


Without It

by OperaGoose



Series: Old FFNet Fics [1]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boys Being Idiots, M/M, Vince is a big smelly jerk, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OperaGoose/pseuds/OperaGoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Transposed exactly from FFNet, but without the author's notes. Written 2009.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Without It

**Author's Note:**

> Transposed exactly from FFNet, but without the author's notes. Written 2009.

Title: **To Live Without It**   
Category: TV Shows » Mighty Boosh   
Author: OperaGoose   
Language: English, Rating: Rated: T   
Genre: Romance/Angst   
Published: 04-25-09, Updated: 12-21-09   
Chapters: 21, Words: 31,183 

* * *

**Chapter 1: Prologue: The Wish**

* * *

Prologue

"Watch where you're going, you fucking bumberclot!" Vince hissed viciously, attempting to shove the tall Northerner away from him. His best friend resisted his attempts to be dislodged, keeping a firm arm around his torso to keep his drunken companion upright. "These boots are worth more than everything you own!" Vince continued with a growl. 

"Yes, Vince." Howard sighed tiredly. He resignedly decided not to tell Vince that it had been a wayward bottle that had bumped the precious boots, not his feet - it would've only made Vince accuse him of lying. Vince was a mean drunk. "We're only a block away now." he remarked quietly. 

Vince scoffed loudly and started scraping the heels of his precious boots against the pavement in an attempt to resist moving. "No! No! No!" he yelled loudly. An old woman glared at them from the doorway of her house and put her cat down with unnecessary force. Howard mouthed a 'sorry' and turned his attention back to what Vince was saying. "-full of the prettiest girls in Camden!" 

"What is?" Howard asked patiently, trying to remember which pocket he'd stashed the keys in. 

"The club, numb-wit!" Vince scathed at him. "What the hell did you come and get me for, idiot?" 

Howard sighed and explained. He knew it was pointless. Vince was staring around and the streetlights with wild-eyes, not paying the slightest attention. "Leroy called me and told me you were off your face and about to go home with a girl everyone knows will empty your wallet in your sleep. Not that you ever carry a wallet or money around with you. He told me to come down to the club and-" 

"You're boring me." Vince interrupted impatiently. "Where are we going, numb-wit?" 

"Home." Howard answered immediately. "And it's dumb-wit, Vince." he corrected. 

"What?" Vince cried out, insulted. He renewed his struggles to get away, "What did you just call me?" he yelled furiously. 

"I called you 'Vince'." Howard assured him in a soothing voice. 

"No! No! You said 'dumb-wit'! What'd you call me that for, you fucking prick?" He yelled. 

Howard winced at Vince's harsh voice. "I didn't…OW!" Howard cried out in pain as he felt a far-too-pointy elbow possibly directly in his kidney. His grip loosened involuntarily and Vince broke away from him. "Vince, calm down." he wheezed, trying to catch his breath through his pain. "Vince…come back." he requested, seeing the man in focus halfway down the street, whirling around and around under the lamp-post. Howard was fleetingly blinded by sequins and crossed to where Vince was twirling. "Let's get home." he suggested. 

Vince looked at him and scowled. "You still here, Small-Eyes?" he spat. 

Howard flinched. As long as Vince called him by non-specific insults, he could pretend that Vince was so out of it he didn't realize who he was. The stinging personal insults he'd heard for years just shoved that right back in his face though. Vince always knew who he was talking to. He brushed off Vince's question and his throbbing pain. "We have to get you home." he reminded gently. 

Vince shrugged and started a loping walk further down the street. The weird-looking-monkey sign of the Nabootique glowed in middle distance. Vince stumbled in his ridiculously high heels and Howard hurried to right him. Vince nuzzled into the warmth obviously unconsciously. "You're a useless prick, Howard." he pointed out, sounding rather matter-of-fact. "I mean, you're a wet blanket at home, and then when I try and go out, you end up dragging me back like a…ball and chain thing!" 

"Yeah, tell me that tomorrow morning when you've got your blasted hang over." Howard snapped, his calm finally cracking under the pressure. 

"Tsk-tsk!" Vince condescended, inhaling the scent of Howard's shirt. "Don't yell at me - Eugh, you smell like vomit - I'm trying to give you some advice! - What drunkard have you been necking with?" Howard blinked, trying to follow the threads of Vince's last speech. He gave up - Drunk!Vince was no pleasure to deal with at two am. "You have to stop being a blanket-and-chain, Howard. Maybe if you weren't so boring you'd be allowed to get with women who're sober!" 

"Vince." Howard growled, patience teetering. "Shut. Up." he warned. 

"No, no, no! You have to hear me out!" Vince announced to the street. He pulled away and leant against the rain-splattered shutters outside the Nabootique. "Nobody loves you, Howard! And it's because you're jazzy and boring and-" 

"Vince. Be quiet. Now!" Howard commanded, his voice rising. 

"Stop interrupting me!" Vince screamed furiously. 

"Vince! I don't want to listen to this." Howard replied angrily, shoving the front door open. "Go get some sleep." he commanded. 

Vince stomped up the stairs. "You don't have to be an ungrateful wanker, Howard!" He yelled back down once he'd reached the top. "If you listened to me for once, maybe I wouldn't have to put up with all your fucking moping all the time!" 

"Oi! Keep it down!" Naboo snapped from the couch, watching the Teletubbies with a hookah in one hand. 

"Vince, it's late. You're drunk. If you need to, we can continue this tomorrow when you're sober." Howard replied smoothly. 

Naboo glanced up, surprised at the strain beneath his calm voice. The tension in the air crackled and Howard held his shoulders stiff. 

"Stop it!" Vince screamed. "Stop telling me what to do!" Naboo watched silently, taking a draw of the hookah and sensing that something big was about to happen. "It's all you've ever done! You act like you're so much better than me! You've got no reason to!" 

"Vince?" Howard asked quietly, his voice breaking. 

"You're pathetic Howard!" Vince tore through the air. "You're nothing! You're nothing _to me_ and you're nothing _without me_! And you're HOLDING ME BACK!" 

The flat seemed to vibrate with tension as Howard left out the softest, "Vince…please…" Naboo's heart thundered in fury - Vince was taking this way too far. 

"You disgust me! And what's worse, is I disgust myself! To think I actually care for you! The first time I saw you, you were so sad and pathetic and I just _had_ to take care of you, didn't I? Well, you know what?" He stood fuming at the top of the staircase, swaying back and forth. "I wish I'd never met you, Howard Moon!" he screamed. 

Naboo jumped to all of his four-feet-something, and glared at him over the top of the couch. "Done!" he yelled, and the world slipped out of place. 

The last thing Howard saw before he was consumed by black was Vince's horrified face, and a trembling hand reaching out towards him. 

* * *

**Chapter 2: Like The Life You're Living**

* * *

Chapter One - Like The Life You're Living

Somehow, Vince always manages to sleep through the shrill screaming of his alarm clock. In fact, he never even stirs until Kattrin is banging on the wall and yelling at him to turn it off. At the first dull thump, his eyes fly open and the fear, a remainder of his instantly-forgotten dreams, evaporates. He banters good-naturedly with his room-mate through the wafer-thin walls and proceeds to get ready for the day ahead. It's the only thing that never changes. 

It seems like Vince's life changes every week. He's constantly jumping between jobs, tried every no-hassles job you can think of and constantly looking for something he'll enjoy. If it's not a new job, then it's another one of Kattrin's 'friends from the theatre' staying in their flat. If it's not a new room mate, or his new job, then it's Kattrin's new show she's auditioning for. Yeah…Vince hasn't had two weeks the same since he came to London. 

This week's job is at a bakery, so his alarm goes off at 3 am to be into work at 5. Kattrin is furious at being woken up this early, and the banter is unusually cold, but sleep-mumbled so it's all okay. He doesn't try and be quiet in the living room. Kattrin's 'theatre friend' this week is from overseas somewhere, so they're fully awake and pouring over an audition script. The blonde-haired man looks Vince up and down judgementally before gesturing to the coffee machine and muttering something that was either very strongly accented or an entirely different language. He doesn't stick around to clarify, just pours himself a coffee and takes it into the bathroom with him. 

He sticks the straighteners on - his trusty Nicki Clarkes - and waits for them to heat while he finishes his coffee. His mugs from the last two days are sitting on the sink, and he laughs as this means Kattrin has been running late. He brushes off the guilt - it's probably his three-am wake up calls that are making her late. Deciding he'll pick up a pizza or something after work, he starts getting ready for the day. 

A pizza turns into Chinese, which then gets confused with Indian, until the Theatre-Friend suggests fish and chips and they end up with half-stale toast for dinner at four in the afternoon. Vince goes to bed after that and he thinks, maybe it's time for another change. 

… 

Howard yawns, stretching out his face with both his hands as he waits, leaning against the counter. He doesn't know which one of his bags his watch is in and he doesn't want to look stupid looking for a clock so he gives up on his quest for the time. He finally gets the Styrofoam cup of tea and leaves, ignoring the judgemental looks of the awaiting customers. 

King's Cross is busy, even at this time of…night? Morning? Hell, for all he knew, it was the middle of the afternoon. 

He swallowed a mouthful of tea, wincing as the heat of the liquid rids him of the use of his tastebuds for the rest of the day. At least it warms him up, freezing cold in a jumper and thread-bare pair of jeans. He adjusts his hat with one hand as he returns to his seat, immediately checking on his guitar to ensure that it's still there. 

He's had his beaten acoustic since he was seventeen when he's dad sat him down and gave him his final guitar lesson. Even when he moved to London the first time, he'd still been consumed with Jazz - hanging out with Jazz musicians and composers and singers. His life had been all about it, but the Spirit of Jazz upped his game, and now even listening to Jazz was a perilous pass-time. When he'd moved back to Leeds the first time, his mother had gotten him interested in old-style musicals. So far, that was where his interests had obediently remained. 

If his interests had settled, it was the only part of him that had. He flitted from decision to decision, a coward, unable to make anything concrete. 

He hoped Miranda had finally given up on waiting for him to return. 

He moved from place to place, mostly Leeds and London but he may have lived in every province in England. But he was always coming back to London. 

He feels he's searching for something, unable to find it. London felt closest to home though he had never had a place here to call his own. He knows, whatever on earth he was searching for, it was most likely in London. 

"Oi! Punter!" a grouchy teenage girl snaps. "The station isn't a fucking hotel. Move your crap or I'll tell the controller you're-" 

"Alright, alright! I'm going!" he interrupts, upset. He picks up his bags and adjusts them over his world-weary shoulders, before gingerly picking up his guitar case and somehow finding his way out of the hectic station. 

Outside, the sky is grey. Helpful. He _still_ doesn't know what the hell time of day it is, and wishes he was orientated enough to be able to find Big Ben and synchronise himself with the time of day. He just starts walking, no clue of direction. He'll find a B'n'B somewhere that'll let him pay when he leaves rather than on-the-spot. 

He doesn't know how long he's walking for, before he finds himself standing outside a bakery. The scents flowing out the open door make him feel sick with hunger, and he checks his derelict wallet and pulls out a lonely fiver. 

Someone bumps into him. A rapidly speaking young Russian woman, on the phone and chattering in a fast-paced London accent. His numb fingers twitch at the contact, and the fiver slips out of his grasp and lands in a muddy puddle on the cobblestone road. He glares at it ruin itself as the chattering Russian throws out a light-speed apology and disappears into the bakery. 

He feels his eyes well up, unbidden and sits on his guitar case, staring at the last of his cash soaking up the filth of a London street. He tells himself not to cry. There are better things to cry about than a ruined fiver - like his almost irreversible unemployment, his mother's tumour, the anniversary of his father's death next week and the jacket stolen by some hoodlum last time he slept on the streets. 

"Fuck." Howard mutters, swiping at his tears. 

"…yeah, well - I FUCKING QUIT!" comes another London accent. He looks at the retreating head of long, messily styled black hair. 

If only that wanker knew how good he had it. 

The chattering female is coming back out of the bakery, accompanied by the smell of freshly baked dough and an apparently hilarious anecdote of how her apparent friend just quit his job. Her voice faltered, and he felt eyes on the back of his head. 

He continued to glare moodily at the ruined fiver as he tries to stop crying. There's footsteps and suddenly, a pair of expensive-looking boots in the corner of his vision. He looks up to see the Russian, not caring about his tear-struck face. 

"It was only a fiver, love!" she tried to sound consoling. 

"Just a fiver?" Howard deadpanned. 

"Here, it was my fault, so I'll lend you one." she continued, digging a tenner out the pocket of impossibly tight jeans. 

"Lend? As in I'll pay you back?" he asked warily. 

"Well, you'll probably never see me again, but sure. 'Lend'." she answered, holding it out to him. 

"I don't take charity." he replies stonily, and gets to his feet, wiping the dirt off the bottom of his case, rubbing the excess into his jeans. "Thanks anyway." he manages out. 

With a frown, she tucks it into his pocket. With his hands now full, he can't get to it and take it out to give it back. "Don't be stubborn. You're crying over a fiver." she replied. 

She starts to walk away and Howard is overcome with guilt. "Wait!" he yells. 

She turns around, an eyebrow arched delicately. "Yeah?" 

"How will I pay you back?" he asks timidly. 

She snorts a laugh. "Right. Forget it." 

"Please?" he begged. 

She studied him a moment, then sighed. "Go to Vinyl, the music store on the next street. Ask for Kattrin." she grinned. "That's me." she added unnecessarily. 

"I will. Thank you." he said sincerely. 

She rolled her eyes and continued walking away, her ear once again plastered to the mobile in her hand. 

_Kattrin at Vinyl._ Howard reminds himself steadfastly, and goes into the bakery for his first meal in two days. 

* * *

**Chapter 3: Juxtaposition**

* * *

Chapter Two: Juxtaposition

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. Drip. 

Drip. Drip. 

Drip-drip. 

Drip-drip. 

Drip-drip. Drip. 

Drip-drip. Drip. 

Drip-drip. Drip. 

Drip-drip-drip. 

Drip-drip-drip. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

"Christ!" Vince exclaimed loudly, trying to tug the tap handle into a further shut position. "KATTRIN! Didn't we get the tap fixed yet?" 

Drip. Drip. Drip-drip. 

"Quit yanking on it, Vince!" Kattrin muttered in annoyance, entering the kitchen with a scowl. "Yes, we had the tap fixed last month. It's obviously broken again." she pointed out. She turned the tap on full bawl for a moment, before shutting off. They paused. 

No more dripping. 

"Thank god." Vince sighed. 

"You're welcome." Kattrin grinned, before going over to the fridge. "Did you eat the last of the left over Chinese?" she asked, annoyed. 

"Yeah. For lunch." he answered, mussing up the crown of his hair. 

"Damn! I was going to have that tonight." She pouted, closing the fridge door. It bounced back and she pressed into place. 

"We should get take out." he suggested. 

"No money." she reminded him sourly. 

"We'll go somewhere cheap. I know you got a tenner change in that damn bakery today." he remarked, expression souring at the reminder of his previous place of employment. Kattrin had mumbled something under her breath, looking nervous. "What was that?" he forced her to repeat. 

"I gave it away." she said boldly, glaring at him defiantly. 

"What? Why the bloody hell would you do that, Kattrin?" Vince cried, outraged. 

"Well…" she sighed. "He was like bawling his eyes out because his fiver landed in a puddle." she explained. 

Vince scoffed. "Whatever. Stupid sod, crying over five quid." He dug around in the fridge, finding a crumpled carton of eggs. "Get me the mixing bowl, you bloody bleeding-heart." he teased good-naturedly. 

Kattrin complied, unfazed. Her only constant flatmate could flick his moods like a dial. She'd honestly thought he was some kind of addict when he'd first moved in. But no, he was simply an eccentric. He was flightier than some of the worst Prima Donnas she'd worked with. But she wouldn't change him for the world. 

They had a dinner of three-day-old bread turned into French Toast on the living room floor with a Mick Jagger jigsaw for entertainment. 

This was his home, his family. Sure, it didn't have all the luxuries and comforts he'd been raised with, but it suited him fine. A hot meal and a roof over his head - he wasn't ungrateful. But….still… 

An aching loneliness sometimes gripped at him, and he would cling to company like a limpet. Something…was missing. He didn't know what, but he knew someday he'd have to find it. Their little home was empty, and he would find a way to fill it. Maybe…Kattrin had always said she wanted kids… 

"What was his name then?" Vince asked unexpectedly. 

"Who?" Kattrin asked, confused. 

"The bloke you gave your last tenner to." he clarified with a roll of his eyes. 

"Not a clue." she answered casually. "Oi, pass me that piece to your left. No, the other one. No, the one with the hair!" 

He finally passed over the correct piece. "So, you just gave a random stranger his guitar. Next thing I know, he'll be another one of your 'Theatre Friends' and sleeping on our couch." 

"Fuck off, Vince." she pouted. 

"Whatever. If this one steals our radio, you're saving up for a new one." And with that, Kattrin was completely forgiven. 

… 

Howard shivered as he washed away the little sweat from yesterday with the icy cold water of the public tap in the one of the who-knows-what-number-there-is McDonalds in London. Christy it was cold! 

A rather well-dressed middle-aged man gave him a scathing look as he washed his hands and hurried away. Muttering a non-family-friendly word he dried himself as best he could with paper towels. Any minute a manager would come in and attempt to eject him from the premises. 

Dry enough for comfort, he pulled his shirt and jumper back on before hurrying out of the restaurant with his guitar, only just spotting a manager disappear down the corridor to the toilets before he left. 

His hands shook, from cold or exhaustion he couldn't distinguish. He knew both equally well and usually simultaneously. 

The tenner Kattrin had given him was already gone, greedy berk he was. Spent on uselessly expensive coffee and a serve of chips he really could've done without. So far, no one would give him a room unless he used a credit card or something to the like to prove that he could pay. He couldn't, really. 

Shivering, he passed the same bakery as yesterday, his mouth watering at the remembered taste of a wonderfully fresh croissant. His stomach growled in protest and his frown deepened as he took a sharp corner into an alley and picked his bags back up from the helpful homeless man, Ronny. He sincerely hoped that everything was still there, but wished he could give Ronny a quid or two for watching his bags for him instead of running off with them. 

He trusted no one with his guitar. 

Ever. 

When all else failed, his guitar was his only source of income. If he ever found a place to sleep, he would sleep curled around it, no matter how uncomfortable that was. 

"Looks like rain." a suited woman remarked to someone on the other end of her mobile phone. 

Howard found himself faltering to a halt. Rain? Fuck! How was he supposed to deal with the damn weather right now? A short distance away, a music store called Vinyl seemed a beacon in the gloom. He expected the place to sell vintage records or something, but when he looked in the window he saw a number of instruments for sale as well. 

Kattrin, yesterday's benefactor was behind the counter, flirting amicably with a brown-haired man on the other side. His stomach growled at the obscured reference to food and he frowned, fist clenching unconsciously on the handle of his guitar case. His gaze flickered to it, and his mind betrayed his sense of honour: 

He could sell the guitar. It wouldn't come up with any grand amount of money, but he was so hungry… 

He dropped a bag to the floor and slapped himself in the face, before storming off down the road, feeling sick at his own idea. He would _never_ sell his father's guitar! 

Not only was it one of the few things his father had ever given him, it was better income to keep it than he would get from selling it. 

He chewed the inside of his mouth. His tiredness was making him stupid. When was the last time he'd slept? 

He'd dosed on the train, long trip from Leeds of course. But…properly slept? In a bed? 

He shook his thoughts off. He didn't mind sleeping on his mother's couch. Hospital cots were a nightmare, though. The pure joy radiating on her face when he played her favourite song and sung too was enough to make up for the government-issue 'bed'. But London had called soon after she was released and he had yet to miss a beckoning. 

He was an idiot. What was he even looking for in London anyway? Years of pondering and he still couldn't answer that question. It just…he felt he needed to be there. Whatever he was looking for would come to him if he was there at the right time. 

"You're an idiot, Howard Moon." he told himself angrily. "Chasing stupid dreams of missing something-or-others. When are you going to grow up? When you're forty-two?" 

A passing old lady looked at him like he was crazy and he realised he had in fact been talking to himself while walking idly down a London street. He didn't even remember which one it was, if he'd ever known in the first place. The smell of coffee enticed him, but he resisted its draw - he couldn't afford any more coffee and he was already running on pure caffeine. 

"You better get inside, son." an old man told him warmly. "It's about to rain." he added, before disappearing in the direction he was going. 

Howard sighed and sat on his guitar case, holding his head in his free hand. He couldn't go on like this. He had to go home. 

_But where is home?_ a spiteful voice demanded. 

He swallowed as an immediate voice replied: _London!_ An odd sort of buzzing filled his mind when he question why exactly London was home, and he supposed that served as some sort of answer. Picking up his guitar again, he headed down an alleyway and sat under a table someone was throwing out. 

Just in time - the rain started then. 

Rain had always calmed and soothed him and he curled around his guitar case, shivering at the drop of temperature. Building a fort of his bags around himself he closed his eyes as an overwhelming tiredness gripped him. 

"I'll just rest for a minute…" he told himself. 

Just as he was drifting off, he felt a droplet of water on his leg. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. Drip. 

Drip. Drip. 

Drip-drip. 

Drip-drip. 

Drip-drip. Drip. 

Drip-drip. Drip. 

Drip-drip. Drip. 

Drip-drip-drip. 

Drip-drip-drip. 

He howled in the agony of mental torture and lost himself to hapless sobbing. Why him? What the fuck had he done to earn all this? 

The rain did its best to answer: 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

* * *

**Chapter 4: Two Worlds Should Never Collide**

* * *

Chapter Three: Two Worlds Should Never Collide

Howard sneezed, feeling miserable. He'd slept for a few hours in the alley after the rain abated and woke up feeling awful. Donny had eventually found him, and he was now sitting atop his guitar case beside a fire in a bin. Donny was relating some fable, but Howard couldn't pay attention - his throat burned, his nose ran and his stomach churned. 

His mind wandered. 

A sense of foreboding for his mother claimed him and he was fed up of the street lifestyle. As soon as he could, he would buy a train ticket back to Leeds. He would find his peace there. 

A heart ache joined the list of complaints. He could feel the end of an era fast approaching: whatever he had been searching for was slipping away. 

He was getting too old to keep chasing a mystery. 

"Mister Moon?" Donny cut through his musings. 

Howard looked up and the world tipped skew-if. His stomach roiled and he retched, his stomach trying to expel imaginary contents. Eventually he crawled away from the fire and vomited up bile, sobbing and trying to hold himself above the mess. Donny was there then, leading him back to the fire and giving him a drink of water. 

"Yer' look a right sight, Mister Moon." he added. 

"Thanks." Howard croaked, not even sure if that was sarcastic or not. 

Donny just inclined his head and rummaged around in one of his bin bags. Getting out a brown-glass bottle, he started to unscrew the cap. "I'll give yer' some cough syrup. It'll make yer' feel better." 

"No, no, I can't." Howard protested weakly. 

Donny rolled his eyes and waited with a cap-full of medicine by his stubborn jaw. "This is why yer' a crap homeless man, Mister Moon." he said matter-of-factly. "Yeh'll never survive if yer never take charity when somebody offers it." 

"I don't want charity." Howard protested before Donny poured the liquid into his throat. 

"I know that." he rolled his eyes and re-capped the bottle. "It's non-drowsy stuff so yeh'll be fine." 

"Thanks. I'll pay you back." Howard added stubbornly. 

Donny rolled his eyes. "Sometimes people just want to help yer', Mister Moon. Not everyone needs ter' be paid back." 

"I will pay you back." Howard retaliated stubbornly. He thought he would've sounded much more effective if he hadn't then been overcome by a coughing-slash-sneezing fit. 

"Of course yeh' will, Mister Moon." Ronny agreed. "Of course yeh' will." 

… 

"Vince, get out of bed!" Kattrin yelled through the door for once. He groaned and rolled back over, burying his face in a vanilla-scented pillow. "Vincent Paul Noir! I _mean_ it! Get up!" 

Vince leant up on his elbows. "Paul? Where did that come from?" he called. 

"Five minutes or I'll give Langston your straighteners!" she snapped, followed by the sounds of retreating footsteps. 

Wondering who Langston was, he slipped from his warm sheets and into the world of the wakeful. He stopped in the doorway. Something was wrong, he could feel it. The fear left over from his dreams had not quite dissolved, and he gripped his arms with white knuckles. He went to the living area, where the 'Theatre Friend' (Langston, Vince remembered) was packing up his various bits-and-pieces strewn around the apartment. 

"What's happened?" he asked Kattrin nervously. 

She arched her left eyebrow delicately. "Nothing. Why?" she questioned. 

"I feel…" Scared, lonely, desperate, anxious, "Weird." 

She squinted at him, before laying a hand on his forehead. "Well, you haven't got a fever. So…" She looked him up and down. "Bad dreams again?" 

"I don't know. I can't remember." he answered truthfully. "I never remember my dreams." 

"I'm sure it'll pass in a few hours." She shrugged. "You ready to leave, Langston?" she asked brightly. Within a few minutes, Kattrin and her last Theatre Friend left the flat, leaving Vince feeling inexplicably lonely. Kattrin and he were often on clashing schedules, so being alone in the apartment wasn't new. Maybe it was the absence of a stranger. Yeah…that had to be it. 

During the next hour, he checked the oven twice and all the drawers. He kept feeling like he was forgetting something important. Something that had to be solved soon. 

He jumped out of his skin when Kattrin returned, bustling with excited energy. "Another audition?" he guessed correctly. 

"Chicago!" she cried, her eyes bright. 

"You're going to America?" he demanded, upset. 

"What? You're an idiot, Vince!" she laughed, slapping him upside the head. "Chicago the musical! They're doing auditions next week!" 

"Um…yay?" he tried, rubbing the sore spot. 

"Yes yay!" she insisted. "I love this musical, Vince! You have no idea!" 

"Clearly not." he agreed. 

She frowned at him, tilting her head. "Aren't you dressed yet?" she asked. 

He blinked, looking down at himself. "No. I guess not." he remarked blandly. Was that what he'd been forgetting? He doubted it, as the anxiousness did not die down. He dressed, a sort of silent humming irritating his nerves from the back of his mind. "Hey Kattrin?" He waited until he heard an affirmative noise before adding: "Have I forgotten something?" 

"How am I supposed to know?" she asked with a snort. 

"I can't remember. But I feel like I have." he answered. 

She was considering this with a frown on her face. "Have you gotten a job yet? Did we pay the rent? Is the oven on?" she suggested. 

"No, yes and no." he answered assuredly. "I checked the last two a few times." 

"Well…maybe it's the job thing. Have you got your resume on hand?" Kattrin asked. It was easy for him to take control over his haywire lifestyle. He needed it. 

"Yeah. A few." he answered, pulling them out of a drawer. 

"Great. Well, I have to go to work. You drop them off to a couple of places after you've walked me to Vinyl." she instructed, standing by the door. 

Vince shoved his feet into aging trainers and followed her out. The job thing sounded sketchy, but he suddenly knew he had to be near Vinyl today. Without a clue as to why, he obeyed his instincts and walked his flatmate to work. He wandered somewhat aimlessly, dropping his resume into various shops he hadn't already worked in. The new coffee place seemed eager to have him, despite the lengthy quality of his resume and he guessed he'd be offered a job there. 

So, with Kattrin's new show, his new job and the inevitable new Theatre Friend next week would be very different from this one! 

His head gave a dull put powerful throb and he stumbled, leaning against a dead light post. Something was chattering in the back of his mind, completely silently. He was forgetting something… "Damn it!" he cursed when his head throbbed, pain increasing. "I'm trying to remember!" he pleaded desperately to the unexplained headache. It throbbed lightly in response and he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. 

Vince froze, staring at the dark-haired Northerner unaffectedly walking down the street in his direction. His heart sped up and something screamed mutely in the back of his mind. He knew this man. At least...he thought he did. 

He took an involuntary step towards him, eyes searching out the face. Something clicked in his head, as if he suddenly remembered the man's name, but there was only buzzing in his ears. It suddenly felt to crowded in his skull and he stumbled, standing in front of the not-so-stranger. "Who…? Who…?" he stuttered. His head gave a sharp stab of pain and he screamed, smelling copper. Darkness closed in around the stranger's face and he muttered with wet lips. "How-?" 

* * *

**Chapter 5: Disconnect Your Head**

* * *

Chapter Four: Disconnect Your Head

He could feel bubbling anger shooting through his veins, his stomach churning. He was only trying to help the git! He could use some advice! And he had to go and patronize him like a drunk fifteen-year-old! He'd given up so much of his life for this stupid oaf and he couldn't even be grateful! The tan, handsome face with too-small eyes looked at him with a hurt expression and his anger snapped: "I wish I'd never met you, Howard Moon!" Vince felt his voice scream. 

A thump captured his attention and he turned to see a tiny man in a blue turban glaring at him with anger and disapproval: "Done!" he snapped. 

Vince felt his panic start and he whirled to look at Howard, getting lost in those betrayed brown eyes. Desperate as the world tipped black, he reached a hand towards his best friend. 

Unfamiliar clinical sounds greeted Vince as he slipped out of his dream and into the real world. He waited for the details of the dream and the fear to abate. It didn't. 

He threw his eyes open and the hurt-filled face of Howard Moon superimposed itself over the sleeping one of the apparently not-so-stranger. 

His head ached sharply at his temple at the realization they were one and the same. This man had heavy stubble - five or six days old - while the dream's face bore only a moustache. 

It seemed a shame to wake him, staring at the purple-blue under his eyes, but he had to know. "How…?" Shit it hurt to talk! 

The stranger jerked awake, now-familiar chocolate eyes staring around in bewilderment around the hospital room before settling on Vince and calming. 

"How…?" Vince tried again. 

The stranger smiled reassuringly and passed him a cup filled with water. "You fainted in the street." he explained as he tipped the cup so Vince could drink. "The nurse called your girlfriend, and she said she'd been on her way as soon as she got someone to cover for her at work." 

The deep, warm voice was so calming and so familiar but Vince was sure he'd never met the man before. Okay…so perhaps he had dreamt of him - but he had seen him on the street before the dream, so he'd probably just included him in his subconscious. "You're-" he broke off as his parched throat twinged and forced a coughing fit. 

"Oh! My apologies." the stranger cried with a blush as he tipped the cup once again. "I am…that is, my _name_ is How…" he took a deep breath, as if struggling with something. "Harold Pettifer." he ended with a hurry. 

Vince almost sighed in relief - of course he hadn't known the guys name! Letting the cup be taken away, he felt a wave of awkwardness. He was sitting in a hospital room drinking from a total stranger. "C-c-can you tell the nurse I'm awake?" he requested. 

An unreadable expression flickered over Howard's face and he picked up his guitar and left the room to find the nurse. Vince took his moment of peace to batten down his heightening panic - of course, he hadn't known the Northerner's name! His mind had helpfully named the character in his dream with a completely unrelated name, after seeing him on the street and dreaming of him. The panic refused to recede, unconvinced by his clear and logical arguments. The name 'Harold Pettifer' sounded wrong in his mind, and it stubbornly named the Northerner 'Howard'. 

His musings were interrupted when a taught-lipped old woman entered the room and removed a heart monitor from his forefinger. "Good Afternoon, Mister Noir. I'm Fiona." she greeted with an I-don't-mean-these-niceties tone. "We phoned your girlfriend. She should be here to sign you out soon." Translated: 'We phone your girlfriend so you can piss off.' 

"Girlfriend?" Vince repeated, confused, remembering that Howard- Harold had said 'girlfriend' too. 

'Fiona' gave him an exasperated look. The number listed on your files. Katlyn-" 

"Kattrin." Vince corrected, coming to the realization himself. 

"Right." she replied unconcerned. She asked unconcerned whether he wanted any more water and promised to go get more. Twenty minutes later Vince guessed she wasn't coming back. 

"Snooty bitch." he muttered. 

"I hope you're not talking about me." a familiar voice greeted. 

Vince smiled in relief as Kattrin slid through the hospital curtain. "Not you. The nurse." he answered, feeling the panic recede at her familiarity. He could face Howard- Harold. with calmness now that a reminder of his life was here. He couldn't lose himself to the weirdness of the dream. 

"Ms Glazkov?" a motherly-looking woman in a nurse's uniform asked, coming in. "We have some discharge papers for Mr Noir." she explained, giving him a warm smile. 

"Ta." Kattrin replied, taking them and the offered pen. 

"How are you feeling, Mr Noir?" Nice-Nurse asked. 

"I'm…yeah, a bit of a head-ache. My nose hurts." he listed his ailments. 

"A normal asparin will take that away." she said kindly, handing him a plastic cup filled with water. 

The cup reminded him. "Where's Howa-uh, Harold?" he questioned. 

"Mr Pettifer? He about half an hour ago, Mr Noir." Nice-Nurse answered apologetically. 

Vince let his expression look crestfallen before pulling it up into a brilliant smile. "Thanks." he replied. 

Ignoring Kattrin's arched eyebrow as she handed over the forms to Nice-Nurse, he gathered up his wallet and phone from the drawer of the bedside table and followed her out. "So…who's Howard?" she pressed as she herded him into a black taxi. 

"No clue." Vince replied. 

… 

Howard could still see the red tinge of blood beneath his too-long nails as he sat on his guitar in an alleyway a few blocks from the hospital. Vince's blood. The nurse with a number of surgical instruments shoved somewhere uncomfortable had told him she was busy before handing him some gauze to clean the young man's nosebleed. 

He tried to tell himself even now that the desperation and panic he'd felt cleaning the blood away had been a leftover from his mother's tumour-induced nosebleeds, but he didn't believe it. He felt a tugging in the back of his mind - telling him to go back to Vince's side. His heart hammered in his chest and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He had felt _home_ with Vince and how stupid was that? He tried to tell himself that it was _hospitals_ that gave him that sense of familiarity. He _had_ , after all, spent most of the past six months in and out of the hospital looking after his mother. His brain didn't listen, demanding he go back and make sure Vince was okay. Vince was home. 

His stomach churned, and he hugged himself with his free arm, still staring at the bloodied nails of his right. Washing them hadn't helped, but he had no nail scissors to use. He could bite them, but his sick-soured stomach protested at the thought of blood on top of nothing else. A voice in his head left a sick churning sickness in his stomach as it reminded him he'd had pretty much every other bodily fluid in his mouth or other orifices at some point. 

A passing taxi carrying six chattering teenage girls sprayed a light mist of puddle-water over him. "Nice. Well done Mr Moon." he muttered. "Or is it Mr Pettifer now?" he scowled at his hands. Why on earth had he given Vince his stage name? Didn't he owe it to the man to give him his real name. 

His stomach twisted: he didn't owe the man anything! The git had scared him in the street, bled all over his thickest jumper and basically dismissed him in the hospital! 

The wallet sitting on the table had been so tempting - Howard had been able to clearly see the used-and-abused fiver sticking out of a pocket and his fingers ached to pluck it, buy himself something to eat, for Christ's! But no - Stealing was wrong. Pity was unacceptable. He'd pushed the wallet and latest-model mobile into the drawer and told himself to forget about the stupid fiver. 

It hadn't been hard with Vince lying there looking so tired in sleep - a frown creasing his forehead and lips pursed in a confused pout. He hadn't been aware he was sleeping until the smaller man had croaked out a question. Poor bloke hadn't remembered what had happened. 

Howard shook his head and gave his hand a tired smile. There was no way he was going to convince himself he hated the dark-haired man. Seeing him so vulnerable… 

With a sigh, he glared once again at his bloody nails. It was only blood… 

He clenched his teeth around the hardness of his thumb nail, meeting both sets in the middle and tearing the nail away. He whimpered and swore as the nail, now too short, pulled his skin and let his own blood seep out and mix with the virtual stranger's. 

Just fucking wonderful. 

Ignoring the rest of his nails, the stinging pain and his rebelling stomach, he went back to the alley he shared with Donny and tried to ignore the vivid images of dark-hair and white skin burning behind his eyelids. 

* * *

**Chapter 6: Coming Down Withdrawals**

* * *

Chapter Five: Coming Down Withdrawals

"Who _is_ Howard?" Kattrin asked, tired of hearing the question drawn from her lips. 

A flash of annoyance and panic flickered over Vince's expression before he frowned and went back to reorganizing the cards in his hands. "I don't know any Howards." he answered calmly. 

"Of course not. That's just why you've called me by that name sixteen times in the past three days." she retorted, sarcastic. She fixed him with a 'tell-me-now' look, before rolling her eyes and sliding a card face-down across the table. "Really Vince, if you're that smitten with your boyfriend, then you can always-" 

"I don't know anyone called Howard." he answered calmly. "The name's just…stuck in my head." he answered, frustration evident in his voice. 

"Dreams again?" she asked lazily, tipping a bottle of loser-brand beer for a drink. 

"I…I've never remembered my dreams." He answered vaguely. He didn't tell her that ever since he'd woken up in hospital, Harold Pettifer under the name of 'Howard Moon' had infiltrated his dreams - and he had _remembered_ them. They were all filled with strange, unbelievable adventures at a zoo or a knick-knack shop, and eccentric characters. Sometimes strange half-remembered images from his dreams would superimpose themselves over his normal observations and he'd find himself reaching to touch objects and slipping through them with trembling fingers. 

He didn't want to worry his ever-concerned roommate, or get himself signed into some obscure therapy hospice, so he never mentioned anything. Kattrin had first questioned what he was reaching for, but had given up after being brushed off a number of times. 

He looked up to see her looking at him with a worried expression. "What?" he demanded, feeling his face for marks or abrasions. 

"You call his name out in your sleep." She informed him, "and not in the sexy way. Almost…frightened. Sometimes…apologetic." She continued, as if trying to sort out her own observations. "Usually…well, you've been yelling 'I wish I'd never met you, Howard Moon' for a couple of weeks now." She explained. "Are…are you sure you've never-" 

"I don't know any Howards. I mean it, Kattrin. It's…it's just dreams, right?" he asked for reassurance. 

She gave him a tired smile. "Of course. Just dream…oi! Have you got a card tucked in your boots?!" 

Vince smiled innocuously and shook his head. Frustrated with his cheating, Kattrin tossed her cards on the coffee table and stalked into the bathroom, saying she had to go to work anyway. 

He sighed and settled into the couch, hugging his knees. Two eclectic living rooms flooded his vision, fighting for substantiation. The first was the one he knew and had known for years - sparsely filled with mismatching Red-Cross bargain furniture and an empty space where their television had been stolen by one of Kattrin's more unsavoury 'Theatre Friends'. Fighting for its place in his life was a room so crowded with objects - some of which he couldn't even name - of clashing colours that it gave him a migraine to look at for too long. 

He closed his eyes and immediately the face of Howard- Harold! glowed beneath his eyelids. The man was bent in the violent orange, hard-plastic seat supplied by the hospital, head tilted back too much to be comfortable and eyes closed in sleep. His skin ghostly pale and sort of…grey? That had to be the lights - they made everything look funny. But he was thin…far too thin. 

"Howard?" he croaked out. 

The man behind his eyelids jolted awake and stared around in panic. 

"Damnit, Vince! I **won't** ask you again!" Kattrin's frustrated voice snapped. 

He threw his eyes open and saw Kattrin dripping on the unpolished floorboards, wrapped in a thick brown towel. "Ask what…?" he asked, confused. 

"You said his name again." she remarked, an edge of annoyance creeping into her voice. 

"Must've dozed off." he muttered sleepily. 

"Oh, Christy." she muttered, rolling her eyes and scowling. She grabbed his arm and started dragging him towards her bedroom. "You can distract yourself by picking me out an outfit. Louis is picking up his guitar this afternoon." 

He forced a chuckle, "Going to hook in, Kattrin?" he teased. 

"None of your business!" she shot back warmly. 

"Kattrin and Louis sitting in a tree! Eff-You-See…Howard?" he gasped. 

"Not again!" Kattrin cried, outraged. 

Vince just stood, blinded by the painting hanging behind Kattrin's bed canopy. Painted in amidst sensuous reds and dark pinks was a tanned and muscular man with the face of Howard Moon/Harold Pettifer. He'd forgotten about this painting! He crossed to it and ran a finger across the strong jaw line. "Howard…" he exhaled. 

The wall behind the painting shifted, fizzing out and leaving a dimly lit bedroom in its wake. "Vince…Vince, this is embarrassing! Let me put a shirt on!" Howard pleaded. 

Vince forced down a laugh and continued the red expanse with his well-worn paintbrush. "Just hold still, Howard. I'm almost done." 

There was a clicking sound and he shook his head, eyes sliding back to see Kattrin snaping her fingers in front of his face with a seriously concerned expression. "Do you know what just happened?" she asked. 

"Uh…" he shook his head again, trying to shake off the suddenly stabbing headache lodged behind his right eye. 

"Are you on something, Vince?" she demanded, holding his head so she could study his pupils. They apparently looked normal, because she pulled back and frowned at him in worry. "You called my painting 'Howard' and zoned out for a few minutes, before saying: 'Hold still, Howard. I'm almost done'." she explained. 

"My painting." He corrected breathily. "I painted this picture." He remembered now. Kattrin had gone and bought herself this horrible picture of some kind of bird for her bedroom and he had taken it off her, whiting out the canvass and drawing the first thing that came to his brush. She'd teased him about drawing a naked men in red sheets for a while before admitting she loved it and taking it back to her room. 

He hadn't seen it since. 

"Are you sure you're okay, Vince?" she asked finally. 

"No." He answered vaguely. 

… 

Howard's heart ached painfully as he spotted yet another head of long, dark hair strutting confidently past his alley. He hoped Vince'd gotten home alright. It'd been days but his thoughts hadn't strayed far from the hauntingly beautiful face of the complete stranger. He knew nothing about the man other than his first name and the taste of his blood. 

And wasn't that a healthy thought? 

He chewed dryly on the half-stale loaf of bread Donny had wrangled from the baker's as an apology for leaving him. Donny was moving on to a busier side of London. He said he might be back when the tourism shifted again, but until then he was searching for a new alley who-knows-how far away. He put the bread down for a moment and rubbed his temple, trying to soothe the general ill-feeling he was having. 

His head shot up as a familiar voice reached his eyes and he watched with a racing heart as Vince and a dark-haired woman walked along the road his alley turned off. 

"…gotta admit, the painting's a little weird! I mean," Howard shivered. Just hearing the man's voice eased the utter helplessness that seemed to have lodged a permanent residence in his chest. With the man he felt…safe, home… "I'm painting someone I saw in my dreams back when I couldn't…" The man and the dark-haired woman left hearing range and he had to consciously stop himself from running after the couple. 

The sudden head-spin didn't help much either. 

How could he feel all these things he'd missed in his life about a man he'd never really met. He'd never believed in love at first sight…well, maybe a long time ago when he was young and stupid. But as his heart slowed and his stomach twisted, he couldn't shake the wish that he had that blue-eyed man to go home to. 

Feeling miserable, he turned to resume eating the loaf of bread. Two fat black rats were side-by-side, chewing away his sustenance, another approaching. 

His retched and scrambled back, pulling his guitar case with him. The rats ignored him. He kept retching until he tipped over and let the half-chewed, bile-soaked masses of pre-eaten food splatter onto the cement. He sobbed in defeat, managing to slump back onto his guitar case and clutching his knees to himself. "Please…" he begged towards the sky. "Please, god…" he dissolved into sobs and rocked himself back and forth. 

* * *

**Chapter 7: Billboard Angels**

* * *

Chapter Six: Billboard Angel

Howard's head spun, but he persevered - pulling himself to his feet with shallow handholds in the brick wall of his alley. He wasn't too sure he could feel his toes or fingertips, but he somehow forced his fingers to curse around the handle of his guitar case. 

After a minute or so, the case felt far too heavy to carry, but his tortured fingers refused to let go. He felt himself sloping, dragged out of line by the weight of his prized possession. 

"Watch where you're going, berk!" a furious voice snarled. Howard tried to find the stranger's face, but sparks of light obscured his vision. Something shoved him aside and he went down, falling into the side of his guitar case with a bang. He didn't cry out in pain - couldn't find his voice. He spent a minute prone on the side of the street, staring at the dirty cobblestones of the road half a foot below the curb. 

He used weak and trembling arms to push himself into sitting position, and gazed up at the sky as the first sheet of icy rain misted over his dirt-smeared face. He smiled at the grey-white clouds. Maybe if he just stayed here, someone would take him to the hospital and the doctors and that bitch of a nurse would make him better. His stomach whined and he shook his head, smile fading as the world spun again. 

No. No one would care at the desiccated, comatose body of a homeless man with no future lying in the middle of a road well-known for the street people who inhabited it. Someone would steal his guitar…and he would be left without it to die. 

Somehow, he made it to his feet, his fingers clutched, possessive, around the rotting handle of his black plastic guitar case. He could get a new one. It would be the fourth. Only the guitar, varnish now tarnished, was unreplaced. His father's name, carved in with a once-trusty penknife, was still visible on the underside. He could've sanded it down but didn't - that particular space was a millimetre thicker than the rest of the instrument. He fingered the clasp, when was the last time he'd played? 

Blue and green lights dancing in front of his eyes, rain misting his face, fingers numb and heart sore he continued his aimless walk. His stomach whined - needed sustenance. His twirling head agreed. Managing to grip his fingers tighter, his pace crept up almost unnoticeably. A couple of cars putted past, one blaring some piece of shit passing for contemporary music. 

His free hand found the fractured smoothness of cracked plastic and he managed to make out the image of an automatic billboard in front of him, advertising something red-and-dark-pink. He turned his back to it, leaning his weight on the world and turning his face to the sky - a prayer if he had still held a belief in a higher power who gave a damn about him. A rhythmic beeping told him there was a pedestrian crossing close. His ears told him left, but his mind told him right. Who the hell knew what to believe? 

He closed his eyes - if only he could sleep for just a moment… 

"Howard?" 

His eyes zapped open, blinding him with blues and greens and spinning lights. What female in London knew his real name? Even his prior…clientele…knew him as Harold. Her voice had been so…shocked and…confused? With a touch of wariness? 

The colours passed and a for-some-reason-familiar face was looking at him in bewilderment. He knew this woman somewhere. Pale-skinned. Beautiful. Dark hair. Pretty green eyes. Russian? "K-k-Kattrin?" he croaked out, teeth chattering violently. Had he told this woman his name? "I…I…I don't have your tenner yet. J-j-just a l-l-lit-little m-more t-t-t-time?" he begged. 

Her expression changed almost instantly. It went from bewildered to amused to concerned to a little frightened. "Don't worry about it. How long have you been out in the rain for?" 

"I-it-t-t st-st-t-t-started raining ab-b-b-bout-t…" he dissolved into a coughing fit that left him gagging and his stomach roiling. 

"Christ." Kattrin muttered under her breath. "Hey, let's go get you dried up. Tony won't mind if I let you use the bathroom out the back." She took his arm and gently coaxed him further down the street. His feet resisted, but he forced them onwards, worried at the tingling in the base of his soles. 

He must've blacked out, because when he was aware of everything again, he was wrapped in a thick blanket in front of an electric heater. He unconsciously moaned at the warmth and turned his face towards the electric-orange glow. 

"You back with us?" the concerned voice of this helpful stranger asked, laced with force amusement. 

"Thanks." he breathed out. 

"No problem. I took your stuff to the Laundromat across the street, and Lillian will drop them back in when they're done in the drier. They stunk like a bitch." Kattrin remarked, handing him a warm mug of…tea? He sipped at it, surprised at the consistency and taste. Soup? His stomach went rollercoaster for a while, but he ignored the sensation for the much more pleasing one of having sustenance in his body for the first time in…god knew how long. 

He realised something was missing and jolted upright properly, staring around in a panic. "Guitar!" was all he managed out. 

Kattrin raised an eyebrow, but insistently pushed him back until he was propped against the arm of an aging settee. "When you dropped it, the case broke. I gave it to Tony, and he's gonna find you a new case for it. I'll pick it back up when I go to work tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" Howard screeched, paniced. "No! I need it now! I…I…it's my most…" he struggled out, trying to get out of the bindings of the red-and-green woven blanket. 

"Hush. It's okay. I'll go and get it in a minute. It really means that much to you, huh?" she asked. 

He couldn't explain to her its sentimental value, or the raw anguish he felt at not being able to touch it and reassure himself it was still there, he hadn't lost it. Instead, he just said: "yes." His stomach finally protested too much, and he stared longingly at the half-mug left of almost-broth chicken soup. Kattrin whisked the cup out of his hands before he could say anything and had taken it into the kitchen before he could protest. He frowned. What kind of shop had a room like this out the back? "Vinyl does well." he commented, almost bitter. 

She frowned at him, confused, then chuckled. "This isn't Vinyl. This is my flat. Well, I share it with someone, but it's primarily in my name." she explained. "My roommate…" She seemed at a loss of what to say, then shook her head. "…is a character." 

There was a knock at the door and Kattrin rose to answer it. She returned with a red-white-and-blue bag of his clothes. "Shower before you put them on," she instructed, "And there's a razor and stuff if you want to trim up that…beard…you've grown." 

He disappeared into the room she indicated and was almost overcome by the sheer _amount_ of beauty products strewn on almost every available surface of the bathroom. He shook his head with a chuckle, Kattrin's room-mate was probably twice as prissy as the woman herself was, which was saying something. A jolt of guilt struck his chest - how could he think like that? Here was this amazing woman taking care of him, no questions asked (so far) and all he could do was judge her! 

No wonder his mother was disappointed in him. 

He folded the blanket carefully, barely even registering that he was completely nude beneath it and climbed into the deep-tub/shower and adjusted the water to as hot as he could handle - you never knew when your next hot shower was going to be…or full one, for that moment. He forced himself not to look at his greying skin, protruding ribs or sunken ribs and instead concentrated on getting rid of every trace of dirt on his too-thin body. 

He smiled at the steam - this Kattrin really was an amazing woman. If he wasn't so sure he was gay, he would've fallen for her instantly. He lifted a bottle of peach-flavoured shampoo and massaged into the weeks' oil and grit. He already felt at home. 

… 

Vince was enjoying this new job. The coffee place was lively like many places that supplied many devoted addicts with their caffeine fix. A small, lighted platform across the shop currently held a local-circuit comedian doing a surprisingly good job. Sometimes there was drama-school performances, small-bands or solo artists set up in front of the blue-velvet curtain, but mostly low-key comedians. 

He loved it. 

His boss had even seen one of his paintings (he had no clue where) and asked if she could maybe buy a canvas or two to decorate the place with. He wasn't exactly going to say no, was he? 

"Vince?" manager Ms Flick, 'please call me Tracey' approached him. "Jeshua called in sick - can you work another shift for me?" 

"Sure." Well, he wasn't getting paid! And it wasn't like anyone but Kattrin would be waiting for him back at home. 

* * *

**Chapter 8: Sock**

* * *

Chapter Seven: Sock

"Thanks for that, Vince." Tracey smiled, handing him two tall take-away cups of coffee - one for him and one for Kattrin. 

"No problem." Vince waved her away. "See you tomorrow after Kattrin's audition." 

"Oh! Hey, we've got no-one lined up to play tomorrow. So, if she wants to give us a show…" she grinned. 

He laughed. "Bye Tracey." he said pointedly. He called goodbyes to some of co-workers on his way out of the door. With the usual unaffected bounce in his step, he headed the few streets back to his flat. He finished off his coffee before he reached the building, dumped the empty cup in his neighbours bin. 

There was an unsettled air in the flat as he went through the door, and he glanced around, wary. Kattrin was slowly folding up the green-and-red woollen blanket he'd knitted while working in a fabric shop. Her eyes stared, unfocused, at the only blank wall in their apartment. "Hey," she said breathily, almost like an afterthought. 

He forced a laugh through the thick air. "You need coffee." he insisted, handing her the lukewarm beverage. A smell caught his attention and he inhaled the rich, homely smell from the air. "Ooh! You made chicken soup" he exclaimed excitedly, practically leaping to the kitchen. 

"We're having Italian." she countered, putting the coffee on the bench beside a mug half-filled with brothy chicken soup. 

"You ate it all?" he pouted, picking up the empty soup pot from beside the sink. 

"I gave it to a homeless man." she replied seriously. 

He laughed loudly and ruffled her hair, ducking around her to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. "The funny thing is you would actually do that!" he explained. He grinned at her, but his joy faltered under the intensity of her scrutinizing expression. 

Eventually, the look fell and she swallowed down the whole cup of coffee. "Go get the phone." she instructed casually. "I'll have a ham and pineapple pizza and get them to deliver a bottle of coke too." 

He dug out the handful of take-away menus they had acquired during their many nights of laziness and flipped through until he found the one for his favoured Italian. If Kattrin left the ordering up to him, she should no to expect his choice rather than hers. He dialled and waited to place their order. 

That done, Vince went to take a shower. He froze just beyond the threshold of the bathroom, seeing a thick, mustard-coloured sock jammed behind the washing basket. It was a man's sock, but he had never owned something of such a horrible shade. Yet, the obscure item of clothing gave him the faintest sensation of homeliness and safety. Shaking it off, he took it out to the living room. 

Kattrin was sitting on the couch, staring at the blank wall again. "I thought you were having a shower?" she tested, sounding a little nervous. 

"I will. Just came to give you this." he replied, tossing the sock onto the couch cushion beside her. "What's-his-name left his sock in the bathroom." 

She blanched, staring at him in shock and almost-panic. "How did you-?" 

"Langston!" he exclaimed loudly, a proud smile on his face. "That was his name." 

Kattrin seemed to sigh in relief and threw a worn-out cushion at him. "Go shower. You smell like butter and coffee." she instructed him, her playful tone a touch too forced. 

"Ohhh….or maybe the sock _isn't_ Langston's!" he caught on, grinning. "You've had a bloke here!" he realized with a barking laugh. 

"It's not what you think, Vince." she explained, a touch of sadness threaded beneath her words now. 

"Aw, don't be like that Kattrin! You know you don't have to sneak around! _One_ of us should be bringing guys home once in a while!" he laughed. 

Kattrin tried to flatten out the sock. "Just leave it, yeah? I'll…I'll tell you when I've figured it out myself, okay?" she exhaled into the air. 

He tried to shrug off the tension, only half-succeeding. "Of course. I'm going to have that shower now. There's a couple of fivers in my coat pocket." he told her, and disappeared into the bathroom. 

He spent a good half an hour using up the hot water when Kattrin knocked impatiently, berating him for his take-out choice and telling him to 'get his ass out of the shower before she kicked it', to put it nicely. They ate in the same tense silence that was an undercurrent to all their interactions this evening. 

After food, Kattrin set herself up with an aging play script on the couch and he drifted over to his half-finished painting. A dark-haired man, Howard/Harold, was leaning on a laminate counter with a mug of tea, holding the lace curtain open. His face, which Vince had finished first, was painted with an expression of deep devotion and profound longing. Picking up his abandoned paintbrush, he continued to spread paint on the man's green uniform. 

"I thought you were going to bed." Kattrin remarked. 

"Wanna paint." he answered calmly. "What time's your audition tomorrow?" 

"It's at…Uhhh…" she wandered over to the 'hall table' by their front door. Confused, she remarked: "I had a flier here this morning. Huh." She shook her head, understanding flitting over her face, before she headed towards her bedroom. "I wrote it in my diary, hang on." Vince tuned out the sounds of shuffling as he carefully mapped the canvas with his mental picture. "Noon." she called from within her room. 

He glanced at the clock and sighed. "Alright. We'll go for late breakfast tomorrow morning. I'm going to bed." he called to her. 

"Night Vince!" 

"Goodnight, Kat." he returned. On the way to his room, he picked up his blanket from the arm of his couch and carried it to his room. Lulled by a now-familiar wave of loneliness, he wrapped his shoulders with the bedding and inhaled. A calming, musky smell answered and he smiled, feeling at home. 

… 

Howard Moon left the bathroom, clean, smooth-faced but flustered. He could feel the walls closing in, and all he wanted was to feel the reassuring cold smoothness of his black plastic guitar case. His eyes checked the floor, desperate to come across what he was missing. 

Somewhere close, but far too distant, someone was saying his name. His real name. Head spinning with displacement, he lifted his head and met calming green eyes. "Howard?" Kattrin repeated, "What have you lost?" she asked gently, guiding him to sit in an arm chair. 

"My sock. It-it's the only pair I have that aren't holey." he whimpered softly, staring at the lone mustard yellow item on his left foot. 

"Hey, hey, hey." she said calmly, rubbing his shoulder gently. "It's okay. I can lend you a pair, and we'll go and visit the Laundromat after you've had more soup, alright?" 

He let himself be calmed, basking in the warmth of unexpected care. "Okay, thanks." 

Kattrin smiled and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. She came back with a thick pair of black woollen socks and handed them over. "My roommate knitted that." she remarked casually as he stripped off his mustard yellow and tucked it into his jean's pocket. She gave a good-natured laugh. "While he worked in a fabric store." 

Howard laughed, swept up in her merriment until something struck him. "He?" he asked, surprised. "But-but…your bathroom…" 

Kattrin laughed aloud. "Yeah, he's a bit effeminate, but I wouldn't change him for anything." 

Howard blinked. "Are you in love with him?" he asked dubiously. 

She laughed - obviously found the idea ludicrous. "No way! Vince is totally gay!" she broke off mid-laugh with a sharp gasp. Her face betrayed she'd said something she hadn't wanted to. 

It didn't hit him until he'd finished putting his second sock on, then he jerked his face up to stare at her. "V-V-Vince?" he stumbled, an all-too-familiar vision of the dark-haired man with blood trailing from his nose clutching at his jumper and staring up at him flooded his mind. He forced a casual laugh. "Nice name." 

Kattrin followed his obvious cover up, "So! Another cup of soup?" she offered. 

"That would be great." He grinned at her and followed her into the kitchen. She picked up his old mug and refilled it almost full. "Just drink as much as you can." she instructed, her tone maternal. 

He nodded and complied, managing to finish half of the mug before he had to put it down on the bench. There was a knock at the door and he jumped, stubbing his toe on the counter-top. Damn it, that would be Vince! He had to get out of here, he wasn't welcome! 

She put a hand on his arm. "That'll just be Tony from Vinyl with your guitar." she reassured him with a soothing tone. He nodded, but didn't relax as she went to the door, stepping around a sheet-covered easel. An unfamiliar man was at the door, and he handed Kattrin the guitar, pausing to make brief small-talk before disappearing down the hallway outside the flat. "Here it-SHIT!" Kattrin cursed as she knocked over the easel on her way back. 

Howard rushed to help her set it back up. "I'll help. Hey, so are you a paint…" he trailed off, staring in horror at the revealed canvass. It was…him! "That's…that's…" he jolted back, taring at her in horror. "You should've asked! You can't just paint me!" he gasped for air, the world spinning again. 

"It was Vince…" she answered timidly. 

The world warped, and suddenly he could see out that window to the zoo beyond, watching a stunning, mature woman as she spoke with a blonde-mulleted man in similar green uniforms. He shook his head and stumbled backwards till his knees hit his standing guitar case. "I…I…" he took a deep breath. "I need to leave. I'm sorry." 

"Just wait, okay?" she begged. "Let me fill a thermos with the rest of the soup for you….I don't want to see your rotting corpse dragged out of the alleyway in three weeks' time." 

He nodded, his fingers clutching the handle of his guitar case and the yellow sock in his pocket. 

* * *

**Chapter 9: Mister Cellophane**

* * *

"Thanks for your time. Maybe next production." Mr I'm-A-Big-Shot-Director commented, tone making it clear that the heavy-set man would have no chance next time or any other. The man gave him a scathing look and shuffled off the stage. Vince sat with Kattrin in the middle of the seats, eyes searching the theatre in a tangible boredom. "Next!" the director cried. 

Vince wriggled in his seat and Kattrin glared at him, putting a hand on his shoulder with a frown. "Settle down." She hissed. 

He sighed. "But this is well boring!" he insisted, pouting. 

Two women a few rows forward turned and shushed him huffily. Kattrin rolled her eyes, "Relax, will you? We've only been here for a few hours." 

"It feels like it's been forever!" he sighed dramatically, flopping further into his seat. 

One of the women threw them a scathing look and Kattrin shifted, uncomfortable with their disapproval. "Look, we'll wait 'till the Amos auditions are over, and then we'll go get a coffee, okay?" she offered. 

Vince immediately looked much cheerier, and Kattrin picked up her book and started reading. 

"Name!" the director barked viciously. 

"H-Harold Pettifer." Vince's head snapped up and his eyes were immediately drawn to the inexplicably familiar figure standing in the spotlight, his tall, thin frame dwarfed by the emptiness of the stage. 

"When you're ready, Mr Pettifer." The director replied, detached. Vince flicked his gaze to the man, feeling outraged to find him shuffling though papers and not even bothering to pay attention to the man clearing his throat on the stage. 

" _If someone stood up in a crowd, and raised his voice up way out loud,_ " Harold began to sing on stage, quiet and shy, " _and waved his arm and shook his head, you'd notice him._ " Vince didn't know how many times he'd heard this song today, but it finally made sense. Watching poor Howard—Harold! on the stage, seeing everyone in the auditorium paying no attention to him finally brought the song into perspective. 

He felt tears brimming in his eyes and sniffed, embarrassed. Was he actually crying over a song? In public! God, this was embarrassing. He glanced at Kattrin to gauge her reaction, but she was absorbed in her book with a tiny frown on her face. 

He turned his attention back to Howard—Harold!—and drunk in his sight and sound almost desperately. He almost tipped onto the floor as he leaned closer and almost off his seat, managing to catch himself before he lost his balance. A distracting buzzing tickled the back of his mind, but he ignored it to concentrate solely on the man lost in a song on-stage. 

" _Are human beings made of more than air? With all that bulk, you're bound to see him there. Unless that human being next to you is unimpressive, undistinguished, you. Know. Who..."_ Howard—HAROLD! sung, shifting on his feet. " _Should'a been my name, Mister Cellophane, 'cause you can look right through me, walk right by me, and never know I'm there._ " 

Vince blinked, and suddenly the figure on the stage transformed before his eyes. With a slight adjustment in stance he suddenly seemed to dominate the stage rather than the opposite way around. His voice kicked up a notch, and as he sung, a few of the actors dotted around the theatre looked up to pay attention. " _I tell ya', Cellophane, Mister Cellophane, should've been my name, Mister Cellophane. 'Cause you look right through me, walk right by me and never know I'm there. Never, **even** , **KNOW...** _ " 

The director, jolted out of his reverie by the sudden jump of power in Howard—HAROLD!'s voice. His eyes locked scrutinisingly on the man, and Howard—HAROLD! immediately seemed to deflate. "... _I'm there..._ " He shuffled from foot to foot and sighed, slumping. "Hope I didn't take up too much of your time." He muttered, and started to make his way off the stage. 

Silence seemed to echo through the theatre, and the weight of it pressing against his chest stopped the loud cheering Vince wanted to be doing. Howard—Harold began gathering his things up from the seat while the Assistant Director stood up. "Alright, that concludes the auditions for Amos. We'll take a short lunch break and resume the auditions for the chorus in half an hour." She announced to the room. 

Vince jumped to his feet as Harold sped past, eyes unfocussed and almost ran after him. He remembered Kattrin and turned to look at her guiltily. She wore an amused expression, but he could see concern in her eyes. "Alright, go after him." She commanded with a laugh. 

Vince kissed her cheek and ran out of the theatre as fast as he could in Chelsea boots. 

... 

Howard resisted the urge to mutter obscenities as he left the theatre, digging a busking permit out of his rucksack. He'd hoped that he could've gotten real work instead of resorting to street-performing for loose change, but that was just his luck. Had been for who-knows-how-long – probably the first time he came to London. He'd had such hopes for the future... 

But they'd been dashed in no time, bleak prospects forcing him onto the street where he could hardly fend for himself. He'd gone back to Leeds far too sooner than he would've liked, but he hadn't had any other choice. He'd been drifting back and forth since then, feeling there was something he had to find in London, but never quite surviving long enough there to find whatever it was he was supposed to. It'd only gotten worse this time, the despair of that missing _something_ seemingly magnified by the sheer weight of everything that had happened. 

The nearly-empty thermos in his rucksack bumped against his bruised ribs painfully and he winced, adjusting its position and slowing down. It was then he realised that someone was calling his name. Someone who sounded far too familiar. 

"Harold!" he repeated, his voice sounding closer. "Mr Pettifer?" the voice called. Howard turned on his heel to see who it was, and his breath caught in his throat, his heart jumping into overdrive. Panic and comfort clawed at his mind, so he ignored both. "Harold..." Vince panted. "Hi." He greeted. 

Howard inclined his head. "Hello." He returned. 

"I'm, um..." Vince panted for a few moments, and then him flashed a dazzling grin. "M'name's Vince. We met at the hospital a few days ago." 

"I remember." Howard returned warmly. "I trust you've gotten better?" 

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine! I was just here at the auditions with Kattrin." He explained. "I saw your audition and thought you were excellent!" He grinned. 

Howard smiled a little tiredly. "Thanks, but, I don't suppose you've got any work for me." He gave a bitter little laugh and adjusted his grip on his guitar. Vince's too-blue eyes suddenly flashed with something. "What?" Howard asked nervously. 

"Well, I work at this cafe, and we're always looking for performers and stuff. We've got an open-mike night and a few lounge singers booked in, but my boss is always asking me if I know any performances who're willing to come in and work." Vince explained in a hurry, leaving Howard reeling at the speed and possibility being revealed. "I've got a shift now, actually, so you can come in with me and I can introduce you to Tracey!" 

Vince grinned, and Howard found it almost impossible to resist. He swallowed the panic trying to crawl up his throat and shoved the busking permit in his pocket. "I would love that, Vince." 

"Genius!" 

* * *

**Chapter 10: Segue**

* * *

Vince smiled distractedly as he watched Harold and his guitar on the little platform across the cafe, letting the smooth voice and easy lyrics of the song drift over him. Tracey giggled and he turned his head to glare at her. "What?" he demanded. 

"That's the guy from your painting." She pointed out, gesturing to the painting over by a couple of lounges. "Well, without the moustache, of course." She added unnecessarily. 

Vince looked over to the picture she had indicated, letting his eyes drink in the face he had just been gazing at. In that painting, Howard was leaning over a shop counter, a mug of tea in his hands and a blissful expression on his face. The buzzing in the back of his mind kicked up a notch, and he ignored the pictures that tried to reveal themselves by turning back to look at Harold and his guitar. 

"Do you love him?" Cassie, a younger co-worker, asked sweetly. 

A small smile cracked at Vince's lips. "I've just met him." He replied simply. 

"So, it was love at first sight then?" she asked hopefully. 

Tracey rolled her eyes and handed Cassie a dish bucket. "Stop bothering Vince and go do your job." She commanded lightly. She flashed a tired smile at Vince and started making a coffee for herself. "Would your friend like something to drink?" she prodded him gently. 

"Tea, one sugar, no milk. Make it strong." He fired off instinctively. He paused – how had he known the Northerner's tea preferences? The buzzing hummed delightedly and his head ached trying to ignore it. "I'll have a vanilla latte." He said absent-mindedly. 

"Another espresso, Vince? You'll be up all night!" she laughed, before moving to make the selected items. He wasn't listening, entranced in watching Harold playing some song that had been pretty popular a few months ago. 

A few arty-type girls had gathered at the tables near the stage and kept flicking him giggling looks. He smiled gently at a blonde and her friends erupted into giggles as she flashed him a winning smile in return. He looked down at his guitar as he played a rather difficult chord, and when he looked back up, the blonde's attention had drifted back to her friends' excited chatter. Vince swallowed down his irrational jealousy and clenched his fists underneath the counter. 

Tracey rolled her eyes and handed him a large mug filled with strong tea. He took it gingerly between his fingers and crossed the floor of the cafe and stood near the stage and waited for Harold to wrap up his song. Once the final chord faded out, the girls and a few interested customers applauded lightly and Vince grinned. 

"They like you." He pointed out. 

Harold smiled as he packed away his guitar. "It's nice to have an appreciative crowd." The unspoken 'for once' hung in the air, and Vince brushed it aside by passing over the mug of tea. He lifted it to his dry lips. 

"Careful, it's—" Harold swallowed half of it in one go. "Hot." Vince finished unnecessarily, the buzzing growing incessantly louder and harder to ignore. 

Harold grinned and gave a deeply satisfied sigh. "That's a great brew." He said, off-handed. Vince's heart skipped a bit and he looked away, uncharacteristically shy. "When does your shift finish?" he asked casually. 

"Five." Vince replied. 

He broke off suspiciously as the blonde woman Harold had smiled at approached and leant down to tuck a tenner and a business card into the guitar case, flashing him a sultry look and an almost obscene amount of cleavage. Harold smiled gently. "Have a nice afternoon." He said in reply. She pouted and walked off with an emphasized swinging of her hips. 

"She was...pretty." Vince said lamely. 

Harold shrugged and finished his tea. "If you like that sort." He replied casually. 

"What, blondes?" Vince asked, trying not to lift his hopes too far. 

"No." Harold said, lifting the now empty mug to his lips in feigning another drink. "Women." His eyes locked with Vince's over the rim and stayed connected for the longest time. 

Vince felt something pleasant crawling up his spine and looked away with a blushing look. "Yeah. If you were into that sort." He proffered a hand for the cup, and Harold handed it over. Vince's skin tingled as their fingertips met around the ceramic, and his goose bumps screamed in protest as he took his hand away. The buzzing had become a tangible thumping, and he gave a shaky grin. "If you want another, just say." He was distressed to hear his voice so husky and he turned and tried to flee. 

"Vince...?" Harold called almost nervously. 

"Yeah?" he asked, turning back around. 

"Thanks." 

... 

Howard was getting tired and a little hungry. He didn't know how long he'd been playing for, but Tracey had said he'd be paid for each half-hour-set he played and any chance at honest work was a golden opportunity. He smiled a little as he segued into a new song: things were looking up. He launched into a verse, noting that he could use a drink of water for the quality of his voice. 

He looked up and once again met Vince's eyes behind the counter. He smiled through the lyrics before turning his concentration back onto his guitar. There was something so comforting about this new-found connection with the younger man, almost like... 

His fingers faltered on the final chord of the song. Almost like he'd found what he'd been looking for in London all this time. He picked up another song, choosing not to sing the lyrics. It was ridiculous – he was much too old to believe in silly things like destiny and soul-mates. Vince was a beautiful and kind (if a little conceited) young man, who he had no business developing an intense attraction to. 

He was slammed out of his reverie by a loud, excited voice yelling the man in question's voice across the cafe. He looked up to see Kattrin hurrying to pull of her jacket and gloves. "I got the part, Vince!" she squealed excitedly. "I can't believe it! I thought Mr Daniels was totally unimpressed with my audition, but I got the part! This is a cause for celebration! You're taking me out to dinner!" she called hurriedly. 

A few of the customers stared at her, shocked, while the others seemed to find it a usual occurrence and barely looked up to see who had entered. One of the girls near the stage smiled and called a friendly "Congratulations Kattrin!" before returning her adolescent attention to Howard's now completely improvised strumming. 

Vince grinned. "Well, it's only taken three months!" he teased lightly. 

Kattrin whacked him upside the head and laughed. She glanced at the stage and Howard averted his gaze, perturbed to be caught staring. She and Vince held an inaudible conversation and he tried to find some way to return to an actual song before his strumming turned Jazzy. 

"Harold, is it?" Kattrin's voice interrupted his conversation. He plucked the wrong string in surprise and looked up at her. "Sorry." She apologised with a conspirital smile. 

"That's okay." He answered lightly. 

"You didn't come back for the cast list, but you're the second understudy to Amos." She announced brightly, clearly ecstatic to be delivering the good news. 

He blinked, his fingers stilling on the guitar. "I'm...what?" his mind was reeling. A prospective job at this cafe, _and_ an understudy role in Chicago? He had to be dreaming. He pinched his hand lightly. Ouch. Nope, he was awake. 

"Second understudy to Amos." She answered with a brilliant grin. "I would like to formally invite you out to dinner with us tonight, in celebration with my first role in a play for three months. We're only going to Indian, so it's casual." Howard blinked, not entirely sure what she was getting out. "Come as you are." She clarified with a laugh. 

"Ah. Of course. Sure. I'll come along." He smiled at her, but his immediately slipped past her grinning face to find Vince watching almost nervously from behind the counter. Well...this would be an interesting night. 

* * *

**Chapter 11: The Hottest Vindaloo In London**

* * *

Howard, feeling a little embarrassed, stood outside the Indian place alone. He'd been told six, but immediately added an extra half an hour onto that for Vince to get ready. He'd paused to wonder why, but shrugged it off. So, here he was at 7:13 still waiting and growing upset—if they hadn't wanted his company then they shouldn't have invited him! It was so typical of Vince! 

...what? The buzzing in his mind pulsed in warning, but settled back until he could ignore it. With a sigh, he picked up his guitar case and started to leave. Just then, Kattrin and a worried-looking Vince rounded the corner. Vince's face lit up when he saw Howard, but it immediately fell when it became obvious he was just about to leave. "You're leaving?" he whimpered. 

Howard sighed, the sound tugging at his heartstrings. "I thought you weren't coming." He answered quietly. 

Vince flushed in embarrassment and Kattrin laughed. " _Someone_ insisted on straightening their hair six times." She pointed out. 

Vince blinked, and then frowned in confusion. "That was you." He pointed out, voice confused. 

Kattrin and Howard shared a laugh before she linked her arm through Howard's free one. "Sorry. Come on in, I booked us a table." 

When they settled into their seats, Howard's guitar tucked under his chair and feet, an awkward silence settled over the top of them. Vince shifted uncomfortably, touching his hair every half-minute. Kattrin watched the two men with simmering amusement, waiting for one of them to make a move. The arrival of their waiter jolted them out of their game, and Vince blinked in surprise. "Louis? I didn't know you worked here!" he glared at Kattrin suspiciously, but she was too busy smiling at their waiter. 

"I'm just helping out a friend." He answered vaguely, before flashing Kattrin a bright grin. "Kattrin! Nice to see you out from behind the counter for once." 

She feigned embarrassment, and picked up her menu. "I'll have a rogen josh and a glass of house red, thanks." She ordered. 

Louis wrote down her order and looked expectantly at Vince. "Hm...I always have the Tikka Masala..." he mused, scanning the menu with the well-faked air of a connoisseur. Howard's mind buzzed and sent him a flash: ' _Boing, chi kah masala. Boing, chi kah masala_ '. He shook his head and downed a glass of the table water. "I'll have the beef vindaloo." Vince announced with confidence. 

Kattrin looked a touch concerned but mostly expectantly amused. Howard knew instantly that Vince wouldn't be able to handle a curry that spicy and decided he could go for a vindaloo tonight. "I'll have a mild butter chicken and a mango lassi, thanks." He requested quietly. 

Louis nodded and disappeared deeper into the restaurant. He returned a few minutes later with Kattrin's wine and she smirked as she sipped it. 

"Don't you drink, Harold?" Vince asked unexpectedly. 

"Hm? No." He answered. He paused, but decided against explaining why. "Do you?" He had ideas in his head about Vince trashed every night, living up the nightlife with promiscuous splendour. 

"No." Vince answered stiffly. "I..." Howard was deeply surprised, but waited anxiously for his explanation. "I'm a mean drunk." Was all he said. 

"Well, I feel left out. You'll just have to toast me with water, then." Kattrin interrupted them. 

Vince started, almost as if he had forgotten his flatmate was there. He lifted his glass of water while Howard to refill his own. "To Kattrin's role in Chicago." He toasted. Howard and Kattrin inclined their heads and the three drank. 

"So, Kattrin. What shows have you been involved in?" Howard asked politely. 

Vince laughed. "Well, there's an hour's worth of talk." 

Kattrin gave him a scathing look, but turned to Howard with a smile and started explaining some of her experiences with the theatre. Howard listened with interest, laughing where appropriate and groaning at mishaps. He felt Vince's eyes on him every so often, but didn't favour him by withdrawing his attention from Kattrin. That would be rude. 

After a long interim, Kattrin finally wrapped up her experiences and smiled at Howard. "So, what shows have you been involved in Howard?" she asked. 

Later, he figured he should've been wary at the use of his real name, but it didn't even cross his mind at the time. "I've done some music work for a couple of shows. I understudied Roger in RENT for a couple of months a few years ago. When I was in my twenties I played Hamlet four times." He grinned. "All with the same Horatio." He added. "I'm not a patron of the arts much, I'm afraid. I travel a lot." He brushed off. 

"Oh, but where's home?" Vince asked, curious. 

"London." Howard answered without thought. He frowned. "Not that I have a place here, or anything. But this is where I spend most of my time." He explained. 

"I would've thought you'd call Leeds home." Vince replied, off-handed. They both paused at the same time, wondering how he knew that while the buzzing in their heads thumped loudly. 

"No." Howard answered softly. "I don't." 

Kattrin watched them with concerned suspicion, but her attention was immediately drawn away when Louis approached with their meals. Another waiter trailed behind with a third plate and Howard's drink. Once the meals had been distributed, Kattrin and Howard watched Vince expectantly. 

Vince boldly scooped up a large forkful of the sauce and meat and shoved it into his mouth. They waited. He swallowed hesitantly and his face started heating up bright red. He panted and went to grab his drink of water. Howard knocked his hand aside and handed him the lassi. "Water will only make it worse." He advised. 

Kattrin laughed uproariously while Vince swallowed the yoghurty drink with weeping eyes. "The Tandoori Taj," she announced, reading from the top of the menu, "Home of the hottest vindaloo in London." She informed Vince with a giant grin. 

"Fuck you Kattrin." Vince spat, shoving his plate away and sucking up more of the soothing drink. 

"Here." Howard interrupted their spat softly. He swapped their plates so Vince had the less violent curry. "This one's really easy-going." He coaxed, mixing a small amount of vindaloo with a lot of rice for himself. "I think you'd enjoy it." 

Vince met his gaze over the table and held. "Thanks." He breathed. 

Howard blushed but didn't look away. "You're welcome." 

... 

Vince walked nervously beside Howard—Harold! a metre or two behind a heavily flirting Kattrin and Louis. An electric silence settled between them, emphasized by the dual buzzing in their heads. The guitar was a barrier between them, and it seemed to be the only thing holding off the blistering tension and awkwardness. 

Kattrin and Louis disappeared into their building and Vince hesitated by the door, looking at Howard—Harold!. He was suddenly reluctant for them to part ways. "Am I ever going to see you again?" he blurted out desperately. 

Howard—Harold looked sad but gave him a sad smile. "I'll be around. We're bound to cross paths again." He answered softly. 

"Are we..." Vince stopped whatever that question had been and looked at Howard as if it was the last time he'd ever see him. Harold. "When?" he asked instead. 

Howard shrugged. Harold. "Again." Was all he answered with. 

"Oh." He forced a bright grin. "Seeya then!" he faked cheeriness. 

Howard inclined his head with a smile and started walking down the road. Vince felt his guts twisting and the buzzing in his head became silent screaming. "Wait!" he yelled, chasing after the Northerner. "Howard, wait!" 

Harold drifted to a stop, and Vince was desperate to know what his facial expression revealed. But when the man turned around, it was neutral. "Yeah?" he asked. 

"I don't want you to leave. I need to know that I'll see you again because if you go away now without telling me then I know I won't see you again and I don't think I could handle that and now that I've found you I don't think I can ever let you—" 

"Woah! Woah! Woah! Calm down, little man." He interrupted soothingly. The screaming in his head stopped entirely. "I've got a set booked with Tracey in three days. I was trying to be mysterious." He answered. 

Vince nodded and swiped away the tears that had smudged his eyeliner. "I'm sorry." He mumbled pathetically. "See you in three days, then." He laughed at his ridiculousness and started walking back towards his building, feeling Howard's eyes follow him protectively all the way to the door. Harold's eyes, that was. 

Vince hurried up to the flat and closed the door behind himself, leaning against it and catching his breath. With an explosion of pain, memories flooded through his mind. He screamed in pain, smelling copper, and everything faded out. 

* * *

**Chapter 12: Conversations With My Mind**

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Conversations In My Mind

Howard packed up his guitar case, humming a quiet song under his breath. Vince and Kattrin had really been lifesavers to him. With the money he'd earned during those sets at the cafe, he'd managed to rent a small room at a B'n'B close to their flat. He'd hoped to see Vince around, but he hadn't seen him yesterday in his wanderings from shop-to-shop. 

He called a goodbye to the various other guests and left with the guitar case clamped firmly in his hand. Chicago had its first script reading today, and though he wouldn't be reading, Kattrin had told him that he was supposed to attend anyway, since he'd missed the Director's brief. He made sure he got there early, and the Director's Assistant (or the Assistant Director, he wasn't sure) handed him a bundle of papers and summarized the brief he'd missed. Things were signed and sealed, and he tucked his copies into his guitar case and sat in an outer ring of chairs and waited for the rest of the cast to arrive. 

The room was crowded with people, most of the seats taken, when the Director flounced in. Howard looked around with a frown – where was Kattrin? "Is everyone here, Anna?" the Director barked at his Assistant. 

"Kattrin Glazkov, playing Catalina Hunyak, called in. Her flatmate is in hospital." The Assistant, Anna, answered quickly. She went on to explain that "Everyone else is here", but Howard didn't hear her through the rushing of blood through his ears and the thumping of his heart. Vince! He shifted, but the Director's accusatory gaze froze him in place. He would have to wait until the script reading was over before he could go. 

The time passed in an achingly slow blur – he couldn't remember a thing that had happened, but it had taken forever. Far too long later he was running out of the theatre and fighting his way through mid-day crowds to get the a hospital he only half-remembered how to get to. He was panting, clutching a stitch in his side when he finally got to reception. A nurse frowned at him in concern and disapproval – ahh, he recognized Fiona. "V-Vince," he panted, coming up to the desk, "Vince Noir?" he managed out in a harsh breath. 

"Sir, we cannot just give away patient's room numbers to anyone who—" Fiona started to scold, until Howard turned around to the sound of his stage name. 

"Harold Pettifer is with me, ma'am." Kattrin snapped, her voice tight with unbridled stress. "If you would care to check, he is on the list of people allowed to visit Mr Noir. If you'll excuse us." She gripped Howard's arm and started to drag him through the hospital, ignoring the fact that his guitar case was banging against the side and back of her leg. "I tried to call, but remembered I had no clue about your contact number." She explained hastily, "I'd assume you found out at Chicago? He passed out after we got home from dinner two nights ago. He hasn't woken up yet." She explained, stopping outside a non-descript doorway. "He's only said one thing." She explained, voice strained. "Howard." 

"What?" he answered to his name, staring through the window at the head of black hair against starched white pillows. 

"That's the only thing he's said." She clarified, "The name 'Howard'." 

Howard swallowed a sob, and pushed the door open. 

... 

Vince was...confused, to say the least. He kept seeing... _images_ , memories...of him and Howard. With them came insight from a second mental voice. He'd dubbed it Other!Vince and tried to ignore it, and the memories flooding into his mind without restraint, repeating until he took notice. 

They'd started when he was fifteen; Howard – that was his name in these new memories – was eighteen. They'd met on the Underground, and Howard had been shivering in a thread-bare jumper against the chilly window. Vince, still a skinny little orphan at this stage had taken him back to The Home and been enraptured of dreams about being a world-famous zoologist. Vince had been delighted, proclaiming the dream 'genius!'. " _Really?" Howard had asked, disbelieving, "Everyone else has told me it was a stupid dream_." 

Vince remembered that day. It was so Sliding Doors! He'd missed the train that day and walked past Kattrin and her mother having an argument. After that, the supposed memories took a fantastic turn – Howard and Other!Vince suddenly encountered strange monsters and weird humans in absurd adventures. The voice of Other!Vince scoffed. ' _I knew it was his fault_.' 

Vince ignored this, savouring memories of home and family with Howard that paralleled his struggle to live with Kattrin, dismayed when he saw how Other!Vince was mistreating and affronting Howard. ' _Mistreating? You're joking, right? Howard deserves everything he gets!_ ' 

Vince cringed at drunken arguments and a few physical fights with Howard. 'That's why I stopped drinking.' He told the other voice pointedly. 

' _What? Why would you give up drinking? It's well fun! I get with the hottest women when I'm off my face!_ ' Other!Vince laughed. 

Vince felt embarrassment bubble in his mind. 'Not a problem for me.' 

' _What?_ ' 

'I'm gay.' 

There was empty silence in his mind, until another unfamiliar memory leapt into his mind: Other!Vince and Howard were on the roof. They were chatting, but just as a balding man popped up from the skylight, Other!Vince's voice screamed ' _No!_ ' and it was replaced by a thousand hook-ups with nondescript women. 

Vince watched unmoved. More Howard memories eventually came to the forefront, and he became more and more disgusted with his alternate self's behaviour as they continued. He was being such a prat! ' _I don't have to justify my behaviours to you._ ' Other!Vince whined. 

'Then what is all this about, then?" Vince questioned himself. There was no reply as the memories dwindled to an end, finishing spectacularly with the final argument between Howard and his other self. There! That Shaman – Naboo? – had done some magic! That's why he'd been haunted by dreams and everything...Naboo had somehow magicked Other!Vince's consciousness into their world. 

' _What? Don't be a tit, this world was just created to teach me a lesson – as if that wasn't obvious! I mean, come on, as if I'd let my life get as messed up as yours is!'_ Other!Vince whined. 

'I could say the same back to you.' Vince defended himself...against himself... 'I mean, look at you! You're so in denial about being in love with Howard that you've completely morphed your personality. I'm so disappointed.' 

' _In yourself? Well, isn't this a philosopher's nightmare._ ' Other!Vince remarked. 

'Or a psychologist's wet dream.' Vince conceded. 'So...' There was a pause, 'What do I do now?' 

' _Wake up, go find Naboo and get him to reverse this damn spell. I can't hack being stuck in your mind for another minute._ ' Other!Vince instructed. 

'Howard's right. You are a bitch.' Vince sighed. 

* * *

**Chapter 13: A Different Voice of Reason**

* * *

Vince had barely moved for the three hours Howard had been watching him for, except the frown growing increasingly deeper. He felt exhaustion clawing at him, but didn't dare sleep in case he missed something vital pertaining to Vince's condition. This waiting felt far too familiar, like it was a common occurrence. 

He massaged the bridge of his nose. Everything about Vince felt like that – like he'd done it a thousand times before, though they'd met barely a week ago. Really, that meant that it should feel really boring and overdone, but it just felt comforting and familiar. It almost felt like sitting by Vince was a hobby of his. He laughed softly at the absurdity of that ideal, but his laugh was cut short when Vince's heart rate sped up fractionally. 

He relaxed slightly when Vince just stirred and opened his eyes. He groaned and Howard leapt to his feet, crossing the metre to his bedside and waiting silently. Vince shifted his head and saw him standing there. His eyes showed immediate relief, and then seemed to battle between relief and annoyance. "Hey, you okay Vince?" he question. 

"Water?" Vince croaked, sounding somewhere between a command and question. 

"Of course." Howard agreed, pouring out a plastic cup of cool water. He handed it to Vince and hesitated before taking his hand away. Vince didn't need him to feed him...or water him, even. "Do you need me to get the nurse?" he asked. 

"Nah, not just yet." Vince dismissed, drinking the water in one and grimacing. "Ugh, I hate the taste of water. I could use a Flirtini." 

Howard frowned – he was pretty sure a Flirtini was a kind of alcohol. "I thought you didn't drink?" 

Vince whimpered, looking distressed. "I don't." He pressed a hand against his forehead, like he was trying to push his skull into his brain. "Listen, Howard..." he paused. "That's your real name, isn't it? Howard Moon?" 

Howard sighed and looked away. "Yes. 'Harold Pettifer' is an alias. A stage name." He explained. 

"Why that one?" Vince pressed, curious. 

"Harold was my father's name. Pettifer was my mother's maiden name." He shrugged. "It seemed to fit." 

"People always called you Harold anyway." Vince mused. Howard frowned, glaring at a patch of sun on the wall. There it was again. The timbre seemed to change in Vince's voice, higher or something... 

"Not exactly." He answered. He glanced at Vince, who seemed to be giving him a 'go away' expression, while his eyes looked somewhat reluctant. God, this was so confusing! "Mixed signals much?" he muttered under his breath. 

Vince's expression hardened. "Maybe you should go." He suggested. Howard felt a stab of hurt, but hitched a breath to ignore it. He nodded and stood, picking up his guitar. He headed to the door, and had a hand on the door when Vince let out a strangled: "Wait!" 

He turned to look at the smaller man, who seemed to be hesitating to say something. "I'm...I..." his breath caught and his eyes hardened. His voice, higher, commanded: "Tell the nurse I'm awake." And the dark-haired man turned away. 

Howard tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat. This ache of rejection was too familiar. In that alien-familiarity way that seemed to follow him around whenever he was with Vince. His eyes filled and emptied again, as a stern voice growled in the back of his mind. ' _What did you expect, you twit_?' He cleared his throat and told a near-by nurse that the patient in room 42 was conscious. 

"Harold?" a familiar female voice asked. 

He looked with clearing eyes to Kattrin, wearing a concerned expression. He tightened his shoulders and gave her a superior expression. "Vince is awake now. You should go in and see him. I will see you at Chicago rehearsals on Tuesday." He nodded his head and hurried down the hallway, not answering to Kattrin's called question. What _had_ happened in there? 

... 

Kattrin felt her rarely-used fury rising. What the fuck had Vince said? Her hands clenched into fists and released as she let out a breath shaking with anger. She felt herself calming down and she frowned as she waited for the nurse to come out of Vince's room. 

What was he doing messing around with Harold? What had he done to make the Northerner come out of his hospital room practically in tears? Call her soft-hearted, but Harold didn't deserve something like this. She'd approved of Vince's flirting with the man because she thought it could be good for them – not so Vince could break him into a thousand little pieces. 

The nurse came out laughing, and Kattrin took another breath to calm herself and fixed a warm expression on her face before she went into the room. "How are we feeling, Vince?" she asked, pulling up a seat close to his bed. 

"Alright, Kattrin? I'm feeling fine." He grinned at her. She frowned...there was something different about his voice. She shrugged mentally – maybe he'd been crying as well. 

"You sure?" she asked, feeling his forehead. "You've were passed out for a long time." He grinned up her, almost...flirtatiously? She frowned. "Where'd Harold go?" she pressed casually. 

He scowled and looked away. "You mean _Howard_? Like I care." He scoffed. 

She frowned slightly, and leant back in her chair. He was definitely talking weird, his voice sounding a little strained. Like that time she'd tried to sing soprano, but her voice box wasn't used to it. "Are you sure you're okay, Vince?" she asked. 

"Yeah! Can you ask the nurse when I can get out here, please?" he asked, fixing a pout over his expression. Her frown deepened – well, that was different then his usual. Usually he widened his eyes to emphasize their childishness, rather than lowering his eyelids to make it...seductive? 

"I'll be back in a moment." She informed him softly, rising from her seat. She walked out of the room and searched out Vince's doctor. "Excuse me, sir." She said softly. 

He turned to look at her. "Ahhh, Miss Glazkov. How are you?" he asked. 

"I'm fine...I'm worried about Vince. Is it...at all possible if he got brain damage while he was passed out?" she asked, nervously. 

"Why the concern, Miss Glazkov?" the doctor questioned, frowning at his clipboard. 

"He's..." she paused, frowning. "Acting different. Different than his usual early-morning crabbiness, as well." 

"I'll run some tests, Miss Glazkov, see what I can find. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about – he's probably just a little weirded out." The doctor explained, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

She nodded. "Thank you, doctor." He smiled and walked away and she glared down the hallway. Now, just to figure out exactly what was going on between Harold and Vince. 

* * *

**Chapter 14: Give Me My Peace**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Give Me My Peace

Kattrin was sure this hospital stay was going to give her wrinkles. A frown constantly creased her forehead, varying in depths. Something was definitely wrong with Vince, and she was starting to get really worried about exactly what it was. Sometimes, when they were quiet (Kattrin was pouring over her Chicago script), Vince would shuffle around a bit, facial expressions flickering wildly, as if he was having a very difficult conversation with someone...except nobody was speaking aloud. 

Then there were the times where he would mutter to himself, the weirdest things like: "That's not how you tremble with a newt." and "Selling shirts at that price is criminal!" There were also things that made sense but started to worry her: "I don't want to hear about Howard!" was the most frequently repeated, alongside "Shut up, you sicko." 

She was just on this side of freaking out, but the doctor didn't seem to be following her concerns at all. 

"Schizophrenia?" he asked, before chuckling slightly. "Miss Glazkov, with all due respect, you should leave the mental classifications to a fully trained psychotherapist." He advised, taking a sip of his acidic coffee. 

Kattrin frowned, "Doctor...I think he's hearing voices! He keeps answering invisible questions and making conversation with himself! It's..." she shuddered in a breath, "it's starting to scare me." 

The doctor frowned. "I'll look into it, Miss Glazkov. Why don't you head home? Mr Noir doesn't need watching, he's perfectly fine on his own." He advised. "You look worn out." He added persuasively. 

She sighed and played with the frayed edge of her sleeve. "Perhaps you're right. Make sure to phone if anything happens, alright?" she requested. 

"I'll have Nurse Reynolds call you if something is wrong. Have a nice day, Miss Glazkov." And with that, he turned and billowed down the hallway in his long white coat. 

Vince was zoned out when she re-entered the room. She frowned at him, then gathered up her things. 

"I don't want to do that!" Vince yelled suddenly, before wrenching himself sideways. He saw Kattrin standing there with her stuff and sat up, eyeing her with frightened eyes. "You're leaving?" he asked, his voice deep but small. 

Kattrin shrugged and pulled her jacket on. "I've got work and stuff, Vince. Besides, you're fine here all by yourself." 

"But I'm..." his eyes darkened and he cleared his throat. "Alright, whatever, I don't need you around. I can get along on my own." He said, his voice strained and higher. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. 

She snorted derisively and slung her bag over his shoulder. "Whatever Vince. I'll be back when they tell me you can be signed out." She explained, before kissing him coldly in the cheek and leaving the hospital room. 

She was in desperate need for a decent coffee, and she made her way to the Coffee House Vince was working at before he went into hospital. Well...Tracey said he still had a job whenever he got out, but she didn't know how reliable Vince would be afterwards. He was just too different. She knew something was wrong, despite what the doctor seemed to be assured about. Quiet guitar chords made her head snap up as soon as she entered the premises. 

There was Harold, hunched over his guitar and singing softly to an uninterested crowd. He hadn't noticed her yet, and she crossed to the counter where Tracey and Cassie stood talking, giving Harold concerned looks every so often. "Has he been like this the whole time?" she asked, slipping fluidly into their conversation. 

"Yeah." Tracey answered, getting to work on Kattrin's coffee immediately. 

"Ever since he came in and saw Vince wasn't working." Cassie elaborated, cleaning the bench so she could lean closer to Kattrin and say in a conspirital whisper: "He looks completely heartbroken!" 

"Cassie!" Tracey scolded impatiently. "Go collect that couple's empty coffee mugs. Nothing kills he romance better than dirty dishes. And _be conspicuous_!" she hissed in warning. 

Cassie just waved her away and bounced off to bus tables. Kattrin leant over the counter, "Does he really look upset?" she asked in a low voice. 

Tracey sighed as she finished Kattrin's coffee. "I don't really think upset covers it." She answered truthfully. She handed Kattrin a hot cup of tea, "Would you mind taking this over to him?" she asked. 

... 

"Alright, take a tea break buddy." A familiar voice snapped him from his daze. Howard looked up with a start, souring a chord. He saw Kattrin standing there with a paper coffee cup and a mug of tea, obviously for him. He looked around for Vince and was a little relieved but mostly worried and disappointed to find he wasn't there. 

"Hello Kattrin." He greeted quietly, packing his guitar away. She handed him his tea and sat on a chair she pulled up beside the stage. There was an awkward silence as she waited to say something. "How is—" he interrupted himself with a mouthful of tea. He was worried about Vince, but the man had completely dismissed him! "Work! How is work?" he finished, flushing with embarrassment at his stupidity. 

She gave him a 'who do you think you're fooling' look and sighed. "Vince is...alright, I suppose." She took a mouthful of coffee. "Honestly...I'm worried. He seems a bit...off." 

Howard hummed his agreement, and his frown deepened slightly, hurting his aching eyes. He hadn't slept the night before, couldn't get comfortable. "I thought that as well. He seemed..." he let his ideas trail off, not wanting to follow where that thought path went. "Well, I don't exactly know Vince very well, do I?" he asked, surprised at the bitter edge in his voice. 

Kattrin blinked at him, her frown relaxing somewhat. "I don't know what happened, Harold." she remarked reassuringly, "He seemed quite smitten with you before dinner the other night. Not to mention how much he stared at you _at_ dinner." She added. 

Howard shifted uncomfortably. "Kattrin, stop." He said softly. "I know you mean well, but...please, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I made some assumptions and made an ass out of myself." He shook his head, "Let sleeping dogs lie and all that, I have to get over it." He said, almost to himself. 

"Harold..." she sighed. 

"Please, Kattrin?" he pleaded, finishing the rest of his tea. "Just give me peace on the matter?" he requested, adding silently that he wouldn't give himself peace. He would continue to beat himself up over what he'd done to drive Vince away – had he been too forward? Maybe he'd freaked him out turning up at the hospital before he'd even woken up? 

"Alright. Well...don't be a stranger, Harold. _I'll_ miss your company at least." She muttered. 

"Thank you, Kattrin. That means a lot to me." He said with a smile, and went back to his guitar. 

* * *

**Hmmm...did that feel like a filler-chapter to anyone else? Meh. Hope you enjoyed despite crapiness.**

* * *

**Chapter 15: A River In Egypt**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: A River In Egypt

Kattrin unwrapped her scarf from around her neck and headed up to the nurses' station. "Hi. Kattrin Glazkov. Nurse Reynolds phoned and told me I should come in. Something about the patient, Vincent Noir, in room 46?" she tried to keep her voice calm, but worry was clawing at her stomach, making her feel a queasy kind of sick. 

"Nurse Reynolds is with a patient at the moment, Miss Glazkov. She left word – can you go wait over there, please?" the nurse behind the counter asked, pointing to uncomfortable-looking orange plastic chairs on the other side of the room. 

"Um...yeah. Sure. I'll just be over there." Kattrin agreed nervously, pointing to a seat closest to the doors that led deeper into the hospital. She took her seat, and played with the tassels of her scarf, mostly just to keep her hands busy as her mind spiralled out of control. Something had happened to Vince, she was sure of it! She never should have let the doctor convince her to go home! Vince practically thrived off attention, and she'd abandoned him in a place of germs and sickness when he'd been so unstable already! She was a selfish, uncaring cow and if she could make it up to— 

"Miss Glazkov?" a voice interrupted her thoughts. 

She looked up, startled. The name-tag read Virginia Reynolds and Kattrin jumped to her feet. "Nurse Reynolds! What happened?" she demanded hurriedly. 

"Vince is fine, Miss Glazkov." Nurse Reynolds answered, rolling her eyes. Kattrin collapsed back into the hard plastic in relief. "However, the doctor told me to call when Vince could be discharged..." she trailed off, biting her lip. 

"And?" Kattrin pressed. Oh, god! What if Vince had injured himself and earned himself a permanent stay in the hospital? Vince hated hospitals! 

"Well..." Nurse Reynolds sighed and straightened her scrubs. "Miss Glazkov, Mister Noir discharged himself against medical advice about an hour ago. I thought you should know." She answered hurriedly. 

Kattrin's jaw dropped. _That_ she hadn't even thought about it. "Where is he?" she demanded. 

Nurse Reynolds shrugged. "Mister Noir telephoned for a taxi and left. The hospital does not keep records of their intended destinations." 

Kattrin felt her anger blister at the woman's condescending tone, but stood and casually shook the woman's hand. "Thank you for informing me. Have a nice day." 

Once Nurse Reynolds had gone, Kattrin glared furiously after her. Where the fuck had Vince gone? 

... 

The Zooniverse was boarded up and looked as if it had been abandoned for a hundred years. It should've been sold and turned into apartments by now, but the lot was rotting away, untouched. Vince hesitated to enter, but Other!Vince took over and walked him straight through the fallen gates. He walked without stopping through broken and empty cages, over rotten leaves and what smelt like some decayed rat corpses, finally coming to stop near a door labelled 'Secret Lab'. 

Other!Vince supplied a memory in explanation: this was where Naboo's kiosk had been. Shaped like a camel. The place was empty now. Other!Vince turned to leave, and caught sight of an old bench outside a hut, surrounded by small animal cages. Memories of carefree conversations with Howard around this hut flooded into his mind, before Other!Vince tried to bury them away. 

'You were happy here.' Vince mused. 'And nice.' He added pointedly. 

"Shut up." Other!Vince snapped, using his voice. "Naboo isn't here." He added unnecessarily, turning and leaving. 

'What happened to you then?' Vince demanded. 

There was no reply. 

"I'm not going to just go away!" Vince yelled furiously, his anger fuelling his power and allowing him to take control. "You're in my fucking body!" 

Other!Vince took the figurative reigns back quickly. "I'm just trying to get the fuck out of here. I don't want to be in your pathetic little life any more than you do." He replied. 

'I like my life.' Vince replied petulantly. 'Just because you've fucked yours, doesn't mean you have permission to go and screw around with mine.' 

"Are you still pissed off about what I did to Howard?" Other!Vince asked, rolling his eyes. "Believe me, you're better off without him." 

"Shut up! You don't know anything!" Vince yelled. Other!Vince shucked him into the back of what he seemed to believe was _their_ mind. 'Howard's probably the best thing that's happened to me in years. He made me happy, dickhead.' 

"That's because you're looking for all the wrong things in your life, idiot! I'm telling you, we're not supposed to be gay!" he growled and kicked aside some leaves. "Okay, maybe sometimes we'll swing the other way, but not with Howard-fucking-Moon!" he conceded. 

'Denial's not just a river in Egypt, you know.' Vince remarked, remembering one of Kattrin's favourite sayings. 'If Howard doesn't matter to you, then why are you so riled up about me being in love with him?' 

This stopped Other!Vince short. ' _That's not how it's supposed to be_.' He answered eventually. ' _Howard was my best friend. Now I'm so much better than him and he just can't let go!_ ' 

"But you haven't let go either." Vince pointed out matter-of-factly. "You're holding on for some reason." 

Other!Vince growled with his throat. "I feel sorry for the wanker! He's entirely pathetic!" 

'Howard doesn't want your pity.' Vince answered angrily. 'He wants me to take care of him. He'll never admit it because he's stubborn as a mule, but he wants to be loved and taken care of!' 

"Then why doesn't he get a damned girlfriend?" Other!Vince muttered, but Vince could sense an edge of jealousy in his words. 

A series of memories leapt to the forefront of his mind – Other!Vince belittling Howard in front of numerous women, and that vicious sabotage between him and the Pencil Case Girl. 

'Well, there's your answer.' Vince remarked. "You don't want him to have a girlfriend. And you need to consider exactly why that is." He spoke allowed. 

There was a dull silence for a long time, before Other!Vince took control over the body with a fiery determination. "Shut up. No one wants your opinion." He scathed angrily. "We're going to find Naboo. I want out of your fucked up mind _right now_." 

* * *

**Chapter 16: A Lesson to Be Learnt**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: A Lesson To Be Learnt

Vince was getting tired of all this wandering around Hackney. They'd checked what Other!Vince knew as the Nabootique, but in its place was a boutique clothes store. Other!Vince had been tempted to go in and take a look around, but he was dissuaded by a flood of memories. They'd practically ran out of the street, and now they were sitting on a bench in a park, glaring balefully at the empty duck pond. 

"Where could he be?" Other!Vince muttered. 

Vince sat back into the bench and smirked slightly. "He works at Dixons." He replied casually. 

An explosion of disbelieving fury came from Other!Vince. ' _What? You knew all this time? Why the fuck didn't you tell me!?'_

"You never asked." Vince replied matter-of-factly. 

' _How do you know where Naboo is?_ ' Other!Vince questioned suspiciously. 

"He sold us our fridge." Vince answered. 

' _You're a prick._ ' Other!Vince snapped. "Come on, we're going." He announced, bounding them to their feet. "You could've saved us hours!" he muttered. 

'I liked the insight into your life.' Vince answered, 'I haven't spent that much time with Howard, and it was nice to almost get to know him, in a weird sort of stalkerish way.' 

' _Still harping on about that berk?_ ' Other!Vince replied, conscious of a passing couple. 

'I like him.' Vince answered stubbornly. 

"So I've noticed." Other!Vince rolled their eyes and sped up. 

They got to Dixons on foot, taking more time than they probably could have for Other!Vince to stop and chat up some blonde-haired girl. Vince paused by the phone box on the street. 'We should call Kattrin. She's probably worried sick.' He informed his alter-ego. Other!Vince rolled his eyes and stepped into the phone box. Vince dug out a few coins and stuck them in, dialling the home number without thinking. 

It picked up after three rings, and Kattrin's voice exploded. "If this is Vince, you have a **lot** of explaining to do." 

"Hi Kattrin." He returned warmly. 

"Don't 'Hi Kattrin' me, Vincent Noir! What the hell do you think you're doing? Where are you?" she demanded. 

"That's not important." Other!Vince interrupted, nervous. "I'll be home later. I've got other stuff to do." He explained. 

'Oi! I was talking there.' Vince muttered angrily. 

"Whatever, Vince. I hope you took a key, because I've got a Chicago rehearsal and I'll be out. You will explain yourself later." She commanded, followed by the dial-tone. 

''Well that was rude." Other!Vince remarked, hanging up the phone. 

'You discharged me from the hospital and kidnapped me without telling her where we were going. She has the right to be pissed off _._ ' Vince replied, matter-of-factly. 'Can we just get this over with? I'm exhausted.' 

' _Hold your horses.'_ Other!Vince muttered spitefully, and entered the department store. ' _So, what part does he work in?_ ' he questioned. 

'I told you he sold us our fridge! Do you pay _any_ attention?' Vince snapped impatiently. 

Other!Vince rolled their eyes and headed to the appropriate section of the store. His step quickened when he recognized the man behind the counter. "Oi, you rat! You send me home right now!" he yelled, storming up to the counter. 

Naboo-from-Dixons gave him a blank expression. "Transdimensional issues?" he asked blandly. 

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" Vince growled, thumping his fist on the counter. "I want to go home, _right now_!" 

"Calm down! You're making a scene!" Vince hissed furiously, looking around with a wary eye. 

"I'll make a scene if I want to." Other!Vince whined, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Well...this _is_ complicated." Naboo-from-Dixons added unhelpfully. He smiled at Vince. "How's the fridge going, Vince?" he questioned. 

Vince blinked in surprise. "It's great, actually. The seal got a bit sticky a few months ago, but it's fine now." He replied. 

" **Enough of this**!" Other!Vince yelled furiously. "I want to go home, and you're going to send me back, now!" 

Naboo-from-Dixons didn't even blink. "Pushy, ain't he?" he typed on the computer for a moment, and then came out from behind the counter. "Come with me. We'll talk in the back room." He called behind him. 

Other!Vince hurried after him, his annoyance building the longer he had to wait. ' _I just want to get home, is that too much to ask for?_ ' 

'This isn't your Naboo, this is mine.' Vince replied pointedly. 'He has no clue what you're talking about, cut him some slack.' 

Other!Vince didn't bother replying, but sat on the floor cushion Naboo indicated. The back room looked eerily like the picture Other!Vince had supplied of the inside of Naboo's kiosk, including the hookah on the low table. 

"Now, what exactly is wrong?" Naboo-from-Dixons asked, sitting on another cushion. 

"I woke up one day and I was stuck inside this twit's head! I've only just gotten in control." Other!Vince exclaimed, sounding about three years old. 

"That's not what happened." Vince answered, his voice calm but angry. "You made a wish. And your Naboo granted it." He answered furiously. 

"What did he wish for, Vince?" Naboo-from-Dixons asked, deadpan. 

"He said: 'I wish I had never met you, Howard Moon'." Vince answered. 

"Ah. I understand now. I will have to speak to the Naboo of your dimension." He announced. He tapped the hookah to life and took a long draw, before relaxing against the cushioned walls and closing his eyes. 

Vince blinked and waited, his head growing fuzzy. "Has he said anything?" he asked after a while. 

"Huh?" Naboo asked, sitting up straight. "What? Oh, I haven't called him yet." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile. "Inter-dimensional Mobile Service. Costs a bundle." He explained to a gaping Vince. Other!Vince growled, but said nothing. "Alright, Naboo – how are you?" Naboo-from-Dixons asked into the phone. "Well, tell him to get his ass into gear." He suggested. 

"Get to the point!" Other!Vince exclaimed furiously, glaring. 

"Alright, I'm getting to that!" Naboo-from-Dixons snapped, before turning back to his phone conversation. "Yeah, that was Vince." He agreed. "Yep...ah-huh...figures...okay, I'll tell him." He finished and put the phone back into his pocket. "You can't go home yet." Naboo answered calmly. 

"What?" Other!Vince screeched furiously, jumping to their feet. 

"Naboo sent you here to teach you a lesson. When you've learnt what you have to, you'll head back." Naboo answered calmly. "But, until then..." he blew a handful of dust into their face. "You have to let Vince take control." He said, before the world spun and went black. 

... 

Howard laughed with Kattrin as they left the theatre, listening to her explaining some mishap of hers from the last show she was in. They both fell into a silent halt when they saw a figure huddled into one of the uncomfortable chairs outside the door. "Vince?" Kattrin asked, moving to his side. She tried to shake him awake, but he snored softly and stayed asleep. "He must've forgotten his key." She mused. She looked across at Howard with a pleading expression, "Can you help me get him home, Harold?" she asked. 

Howard hesitated, just for a moment – Vince had treated him like crap...but, he still needed help now. "Of course." He looked between his guitar and the sleeping man and took a nervous breath. "Carry this." He told Kattrin softly, passing her the guitar. He knelt down and lifted Vince against his chest with an arm around his back and the other under his knees. 

He fought down a smile when the smaller men snuggled deeper into his chest and muttered a contented: "Howard". 

* * *

**Chapter 17: I Don't Care Anymore**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: I Don't Care (Anymore)

Howard frowned staring at Vince's unconscious form expectantly, waiting for him to wake up or move. Naboo slipped back into the room, and he looked at the tiny shaman patiently. "Well?" he asked. 

"He's safe." Naboo said flatly. "Took over the other world's Vince for a while, but we fixed that up. It sounded like the other Vince was well on his way to learning the lesson." 

Howard frowned, sitting back in the hard orange plastic hospital-issue chair. "But ours isn't." He concluded, keeping the stab of disappointment covered by his bored demeanour. 

He was sure Naboo saw it anyway. "Well, now that our Vince has been reduced to merely watching, I'm sure he'll..." he trailed off at Howard's unimpressed glare. "No. He's not getting it. He's too focussed on coming home." 

"Maybe you should just let him." Howard remarked bitterly. "You know I don't care anymore." 

Naboo glared at him stonily. "I know. But you should – this lesson will change things." He advised. 

Howard sighed and turned away from the tiny Shaman to watch a now-frowning Vince. "You think it will. But I've known Vince longer than you. Even if he learns what you've told me he has to learn, it won't change things between us." 

"I can't bring him back anyway – the whole spell is tied to this epiphany." Naboo explained. "He'll only come home when he learns his lesson." 

Howard scowled and glared into middle distance. "I want to do this quickly, Naboo. I need it to be over and done with, sir." 

"I know. But everything's up to the other Vince now." Naboo said. 

He left, leaving Howard and Vince alone in the hospital room. Howard sighed and his frown slipped away into a blank expression. He felt empty. He'd been furious at first, then upset, giving way to desperation and indecision. But, once his mind was made up, everything had just fallen away: it simply did not matter any more. Moving forward was hinged on Vince waking up. Once they had finally covered the subject, they could both get on with everything. He didn't exactly know what was going to happen, but once he'd told Vince everything would fall into place. 

It was going to be a difficult conversation, but it needed to be done. The tension between them...it was suffocating them both, and something had to be done. He'd thought over everything, and his decision was the only logical option. Vince might hate him for it, but... 

He scowled and an echo of anger twisted his gut. But it didn't matter, did it? Vince already hated him – had wished they'd never met. His decision was made – they had to talk, and then... 

It would either resolve everything between them, or Vince could hate him more. But they had stagnated and things had to change. And they would. Whether that change would be for better or worse... 

He didn't care any more. 

He'd made his decision. 

He was leaving. 

... 

Howard frowned staring at Vince's unconscious form expectantly, waiting for him to wake up or move. The skinny brunette only mumbled in his sleep and locked his arms around Howard's neck tighter. Kattrin laughed at them from the doorway. He glared at her helplessly. "Well?" he asked. 

"He's asleep." She answered. "He never lets go of what he wants when he's sleeping. It took us six ripped blankets and three cushions before we learnt that lesson." 

Howard sighed and eased himself down into the soft mattress on his side. "But why me?" he asked, ignoring the smile that threatened when Vince wriggled closer. 

He was sure Kattrin saw it anyway. "Now that's just an obvious answer. What do you think?" He gave her a blank expression. "No? You're just not getting it! You're too focused on..." 

"Maybe you should just tell me." He interrupted gently. "Since I obviously don't know." 

Kattrin rolled her eyes and leant against the door with her arms folded. "You know. Well, you _should_ know. It's damned obvious." She answered. 

He sighed and turned away from the feisty Russian to watch a half-smiling Vince."You think it is, but you've known Vince longer than I have. I have no clue what you're talking about, but you obviously know something." 

"I shouldn't be telling you, anyway. It really should be up to Vince to tell you." She paused, but continued. "It's totally obvious you two are in love." 

Howard's jaw dropped, and he stared at her oddly for a moment. He closed his mouth and tried once more to remove himself from Vince's clutches. "You've made a mistake, Kattrin." He told her pointedly. "Vince Noir is not in love with me." 

Kattrin arched an eyebrow, "...and you?" 

"It doesn't matter." He dismissed, tugging at Vince's hands a little desperately. "Look, can you just help me out?" he asked, looking at her pleadingly. 

She pretended to be thinking about it for a moment. "Hm...no." she answered, turning on her heel. 

"Kattrin!" he cried, shocked. What was she doing? 

"Listen up Mister Pettifer!" she snapped, her tone serious. "I don't care what's happened between you in the past. I just don't care any more!" she yelled, frustrated. Howard arched an eyebrow as he struggled with Vince's apparently iron grip – the last week was 'the past'? "If Vince has finally developed the sense to hold on to you and prevent you from leaving again, then I'm not going to try and help you sabotage that!" 

"Kattrin, please, just..." 

"I don't care anymore!" she snapped. "I've made my decision." She gave him an evil grin and produced a key from her back pocket. "You're not leaving." 

* * *

**Chapter 18: Pillow Talk?**

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Pillow Talk?

Vince was warm and he was comfortable and he was happy. On top of that, he was alone in his head and he sighed contentedly and tried to bury himself deeper within the musky-scented firm pillow. He frowned slightly as he remembered: he had no clue where he was. He frowned as he followed his last memories – Naboo, the man who'd sold them their fridge, had warned the Other!Vince that if he wanted to go home, he had to learn some sort of lesson. After that...nothing. 

The soft sheets he was sure was his own, and what he could feel of the mattress was lumpy in all the same places. He shifted his toe – yep, there was that spring sticking out. He was definitely in his own bed, but how had he got here? 

...and who on earth was in bed with him? 

One of his arms was angled up, a hand underneath a shin-wool jumped lying against warm skin. His other arm was around someone's waist, holding himself close to a male-someone's chest. One of his legs was hooked around the man's knees, his cheek pressed against a steadily beating heart. Two unidentified arms were wrapped, loose enough not to be constricting, but with enough strength to know it was not accidental. 

Well, he knew who he wanted it to be, but... 

He slowly opened one of his eyes, looking up at the sleeping face of Howard Moon. He smiled, sighing in relief, and let himself go back to sleep. 

. 

When he woke up next, his first thought was: "You're too skinny." 

"Gee," the Northerner's deep voice answered. Vince looked up at him, surprised that he was awake. Howard continued: "you're not judgemental at all." Words that should have been bitter and sarcastic were warm. Still sarcastic, but what did he expect. 

"I have no word control when I first wake up." Vince informed him sleepily. 

Howard smiled, stroking a hand down the middle of Vince's spine. "When you _first wake up_?" he teased lightly. 

"Hey!" Vince protested, pinching the flesh around a rib. Howard admitted an 'eep' – his desperate attempt to repress a giggle. Vince danced his fingers over the far-too-obvious ribs with a triumphant grin. "You're ticklish!" he exclaimed over the top of Howard's stifled laughs. 

"Yes, I am!" the taller man conceded, taking the arm of the attacking arm and pulling it out from underneath his shirt. "Good morning to you, too, Vince." He greeted with mock-annoyance. 

Vince smirked. "Good morning." He returned, before shifting up the other man's body and pressing a kiss onto his lips. At least...that was his intention. 

Howard moved his head at the last minute, so the kiss landed awkwardly on the corner of his mouth. He steadied his hands on Vince's shoulders and held him off his torso. "What are you doing?" he demanded, voice suddenly dark. 

Vince gasped slightly and stared at Howard, upset. "I...I thought..." He took a deep breath. "I was going to kiss you good morning!" he said defensively. 

Howard sighed and his forehead wrinkled with a desperate expression. He gently manoeuvred Vince back into the mattress and sat up, swinging his feet off the side of the bed and onto the floor. "What am I doing?" he muttered to himself. 

"Howard..." Vince said quietly, "I thought you... don't you... don't you _like_ me, Howard?" he asked, saying the word to show he meant something more than simple 'like'. What was it about Howard that made him feel fifteen all over again? Howard shoulders slumped as he sighed. He cradled his head in both his hands and took a few deep breaths. Vince asked tentatively: "Howard?" 

"What I think and how I feel, Vince," he began slowly, "isn't important." 

"Isn't important?" Vince demanded, sitting up with a frown. "How can you say that, Howard?" 

"Vince..." he sighed, and seemed to be thinking for a long time. He sighed and stood up, crossing the room to look out the skinny window. "We need to stop this." He told him sadly. "Stop now, before we...before I... _we_ , before _we_ get in too deep." 

"Too deep?" Vince asked dubiously. 

Howard sighed again, not looking at him. "Vince, look..." he took another deep breath, "We've only known each other for two weeks, but I care about you more than any other man I've ever met." He turned to face him, and sat back on the side of the bed. "But we need to stop this now, before it gets any further." 

Vince shook his head vehemently and put his hands on Howard's shoulders. "Howard, I love you. You make me feel like home, and I can't explain how, but I know no matter what has happened in our lives, we were supposed to meet." He took a deep breath and moved closer. "We're supposed to be together, Howard." He told him gently. "This...I can't feel much 'deeper' about you." He said hesitantly, hoping Howard would get the message. 

Howard gasped, eyes wide, before looking away. "Vince, stop it." He commanded painfully. "We... You... I..." He took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. "I'm going to say this plainly: you're too good for me." 

Vince scowled, his anger sparking. He slapped a Howard hard across the face. "Don't you dare." He warned, the Other!Vince's memories of a self-deprecating Howard coming up to the surface. Howard wasn't really like that here, and he wasn't going to let him just slip into that mode. "Howard TJ Moon, you are the kindest, most amazing man I've ever met. In what universe does that make you better than me?" he demanded. 

Howard frowned, standing up and going back to the window. "Vince, you don't understand—" 

"No, Howard, I don't!" Vince yelled, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress. "I don't understand! I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, and for some reason you want me to forget that because you think you're not _good enough_ for me? Howard, I want to be with you! I want you to be my boyfriend, and move in with and make this place home. Because as hard as I try, this place isn't home without you!" 

Howard's breath hitched, and he glanced at Vince with watery eyes. "Vince..." he took a deep breath and looked back outside of the window. "Vince, you don't want to make a life with a whore." He said painfully. 

Vince was stunned into silence for a moment. He gaped and gasped in a breath. "What?" he asked at a whisper, not sure he wanted that answered. 

"Vince, I'm not saying go out and marry a virgin." Howard said tensely. "But I am saying you deserve more than a used, tainted old man." 

Vince stood up and crossed the room, wrapping his arms tightly around Howard's torso and laying his head against his back. "You're only three years older than me. You're not old." He said, trying for a light tone. 

"Vince." Howard groaned, upset. "This isn't the time for joking around." 

"What do you want me to say, Howard?" Vince said quietly. "That I don't care that you are a..." he swallowed, "You're a..." 

" _Was_." Howard corrected quietly. "Nobody wants aged product, Vince." He remarked bitterly. "I haven't been for a few years." He pulled Vince's hands off and stepped away. "But it doesn't change the fact that I was." 

"Do you have any STDs?" Vince asked in a low, angry voice. 

"What? No! I was always made sure it was safe, but..." 

"Then why would I care, Howard?" Vince demanded angrily, walking around and grabbing his face with a hand. He turned it to make Howard look at him. "That's not who you are. It's what you did." Vince said softly. 

Howard pushed the other man's hand away. "Vince." He warned. "Just think about it for a while, okay? You'll come to your senses." He said. 

"Come to my senses?" Vince demanded. "I don't _need_ to think about it, Howard! It doesn't matter to me! You could be a...an escort, or a jazz musician or a zookeeper, Howard! And it would still wouldn't matter." He told him, standing in front of the window. 

Howard blinked, staring. "How did you know what I..." he shook his thoughts off and looked at Vince with a confused expression. "I don't understand." He admitted warily. 

"Then don't try. Just accept it." Vince advised. "That's what I do." He added with a grin. 

Howard chuckled to himself and sighed, massaging his eyes. "Can we just go back to bed?" he mumbled tiredly. 

"That," Vince remarked, "is the best idea you've had this morning." 

... 

Howard...did not understand. Who was this Vince, and where had his dream man come from? He cringed inwardly at the corny quality of that line. But he couldn't think of any other accurate way to describe Vince – good-natured, if a little prone to bitchiness, kind-hearted, if somewhat over-emotional, beautiful, especially since he was vain... 

But to top everything off...he wasn't disgusted. Howard's deepest, darkest, dirtiest secret and Vince had been prepared to dismiss it like it was nothing. He ran a hand along the smooth brown tresses of the head on his chest and allowed a small smile to ghost across his lips. He could die happy in this moment, warm, comfortable and well-fed, loved and in love with a man who was willing to look past his earlier career. 

It was almost too good to be true, like that moment, before the climax of the first act, where the lovers seem to have everything perfect, and the villain sweeps in with a catchy musical number and dashes their hopes. And, yes, he had been in far too many musicals. 

Vince stirred, pointy hip-bone prodding into Howard's uncomfortably full ladder. He shifted the weight of Vince's body onto the mattress and crossed quickly to the front door. He knocked to the tune of All That Jazz for ten minutes before Kattrin opened it with an arched eyebrow. "Yes?" she asked expectantly. 

"I _really_ need the bathroom, Kattrin. Can you please let me go?" he asked. 

"I'm going to answer that question with another one of my own: Are you leaving?" she asked pointedly. 

Howard tried to scowl, but an involuntary smile grew over his lips. "I'll stay as long as Vince wants me." He agreed. 

Kattrin squealed and let him through the doorway. 

He smiled: for the first time in God knew how many years...he was happy. 

* * *

**Chapter 19: Life Is Beautiful**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Life Is Beautiful

"Howard, you were amazing!" came the familiar, warming voice of Vince Noir. 

Howard turned from the mirror where he was doing his best to remove his stage-makeup to smile at his boyfriend slipping through the door to the dressing room he shared with the man playing Billy Flynn. "How did you get in here, little man?" he asked, taking him into an embrace and kissing his forehead. 

Vince's too-blue eyes twinkled as he grinned mischievously. "That's my little secret." He said. 

Howard rolled his eyes and ruffled Vince's perfectly coiffured 'do, eliciting a cry of objection. He rolled his eyes and let Vince run to the mirror to check out the damage done. 

It had been three months since he'd agreed to stay, and things were just as good as they had been then. Sure, they had their inevitable spats, but they always made up quickly. Kattrin was enjoying the many fans of her fishnet bodysuit, a blonde-haired stagehand in particular. Things were great, but he couldn't shove aside his paranoia. Something had to go wrong, the life of Howard Moon, or even Harold Pettifer, never went this smoothly. 

Vince finished his preening and hugged him from behind. "Let's head home. Kattrin's waiting for us." He announced. 

"Just a minute, little man." He said warmly, hanging his costume back on the rack. Once that was done, he took his boyfriend's hand and let himself be dragged out of the theatre and into a waiting taxi. Kattrin was giggling, a bottle of champagne from god knew where in her hand. Howard smiled warmly. 

These two were his family now, and for once in his life, his life was warm and comfortable and _happy_ , more importantly. A sinking feeling struck in his gut – what about his mother? He hadn't called her in far too long. She was lonely, and he should've called before now. He set his jaw, the sinking feeling not going away. What if the cancer had come back? It wouldn't be the first time. He hadn't even known until he'd returned home that she was sick in the first place, and she always refused to tell him when she was sick. 'Didn't want to worry him', as she put it. 

When they got in, it was far too late for a phone call, but he resolved to call at an appropriate time in the morning. 

Still, hours later, he couldn't sleep. Vince was snoring softly on his chest, head lying directly over his chest. He was restless, the churning in his gut keeping him awake despite the usual exhaustion left over from a performance. With a sigh of annoyance, he lifted Vince's head and replaced himself with a pillow before pulling his jeans on and walking bare-foot out into the living room/kitchen. 

Kattrin was asleep, slumped over the coffee table and a magazine. He chuckled slightly and carried her to her bedroom and pulled the sheets over her. He smiled as he went back into the living room and cleared up a number of mugs. Sometimes he felt like a parent to Kattrin, the husband for Vince. He hadn't been here for very long, but this run-down little apartment in the heart of London felt like home. And that had everything to do with Vince, he was sure. 

But, still, he felt nervous and out-of-sorts tonight. Expecting the bad news that would pop the bubble of domestic bliss he was living in. He sat on the couch for some time, attempting the crossword in Kattrin's magazine until he grew too restless. 

He crossed to the window and watched the sky slowly grow a lighter shade of grey. When he heard Kattrin stirring, the day was already underway. He shook his head at his own ridiculousness and went back to his room to wake Vince for breakfast and work. 

Nothing was wrong and nothing was going to happen. He was just too over-dramatic to believe that life could be good, too self-deprecating to believe that he could actually be happy for any extended amount of time. 

Vince was put-out at being woken, as usual, but the promise of pancakes had him in the shower within no time. He cooked as he waited for his boyfriend to get out of the bathroom and an hour later they were sat around the table sharing a meal. 

Shaking his head once more at his foolishness he cleared the plates. "Life is good." He told Kattrin as she poured herself another coffee. 

She gave him a good-natured sneer. "Sap." she teased. 

He laughed, cut off mid-chuckle by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Stomach twisting in dread, he picked up the receiver. "Hello?" he asked nervously. 

"Is Howard Moon there, please?" the other line asked. 

"Speaking." He answered, his heart racing in fear. 

... 

"Howard?" Vince asked tentatively, knocking on the door to their bedroom worriedly. "Howard, will you tell me what happened?" he pleaded. 

He'd asked Tracey for the day off when he figured out something was genuinely wrong with the older man. Howard had a conversation filled with long gaps in his speaking, and when he did, they were one word-monotone answers. Something had happened, but he didn't know what that was and he was getting genuinely scared. 

"Howard? Please? You're scaring me." He told the wood of his door. 

"It's unlocked, little man." A tiny, broken voice drifted out. He turned the knob and found Howard sitting on the bed, staring at his trembling hands with a lost expression. "I didn't mean to worry you." He said quietly. 

"What happened, Howard? Will you tell me?" he asked, coming to sit down beside him. 

"My mother died." He stated. His voice was hollow, emotionless, as if he couldn't quite grasp the meaning behind the words himself. 

Vince gasped, a sympathetic stab of pain going through his chest. "How did it happen?" he asked. "An accident, or—" 

"Cancer. Breast cancer." Howard answered clinically. "She was in remission for a few years, but it came back a few months ago. She never told me she was sick." His voice broke and he sobbed slightly, folding in on himself. 

"Oh, Howard." Vince gasped, pulling the larger man into his embrace and lying them back against the pillows. "Things will be okay." He said, feeling so helpless and unhelpful. "Just let it out." He whispered gently. 

Howard sobbed with deep, gulping breaths, holding Vince tightly and lying on his chest. Vince could do nothing but murmur useless words and stroke his hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He didn't know what to do. Nothing like this ever had happened to him before. 

He could only try and console Howard. He didn't know what else to do. 

He felt the Other!Vince's sorrow as well, and hoped he'd made progress. 

* * *

**Chapter 20: The Epiphany**

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: The Epiphany

Howard sniffled slightly, feeling pathetic, as he leant his head against the uncomfortable seat of the train and hugged his rucksack closer. Two hours and he'd be back in Leeds. There was no one waiting for him there. The only family he'd had left in Leeds was being buried in two days. Willing his tears away, he turned his closed eyes towards the scratched-up window. He was a man and 'men didn't cry', as his father spat on him numerous times when the drinking was at its worse. 

He'd intended to sneak off early this morning. He hadn't been able to sleep anyway, and had packed in the dark hours of the morning. He didn't need to be careful or quiet – Kattrin slept through everything but an alarm, and Vince slept through even those. His plans out to be futile anyway because the moment he finished closing his rucksack an annoyed voice had sparked up from the bed: "Planning to say goodbye at all?" 

He'd returned guiltily to the warm sheets and let Vince hold him for a little while longer while he tried to get a better grip on himself. By the time he was ready again, he wandered out of the bedroom with Vince in tow to see Kattrin on the couch, not _quite_ wringing her hands, but nearly. They'd shared a tense breakfast, his gloom oppressing the silence and preventing even the idlest small-talk. 

When putting it off any longer meant being in danger of missing his train, he gathered his bags and prepared to leave. Avoiding the woman's gaze, he pressed the handle of the guitar case into his lover's manicured hands and insisted he keep it. "Take care of it until I come home." He'd implored. Vince promised he would, without understanding exactly how much the guitar meant to him. 

They'd left Kattrin behind at the apartment, the guitar lying in a place of honour on their bed. His hand shook when he paid and collected his ticket, pulling the smaller man through the hectic mid-morning traffic of the train station and waiting teary-eyed on the platform for his train to come in. They avoided talking about his leaving, nor the reason why, two bright pink elephants sitting near the kiosk machines with sinister grins. 

Finally, their meaningless chatter drifted off when the train arrived. Vince sobbed softly, and Howard cupped his lightly stubbled face and kissed his tear-tracks quietly. "I'm coming home, little man." He'd promised, determined. "This isn't goodbye." 

Vince had nodded, unconvinced. 

Howard had sighed, pushing his tangled hair away from his face. Braving himself, he whispered: "I love you, Vince Noir." The first time the words had ever left his mouth, but he swore they would **not** be the last. 

Vince burst into tears then, pressing frantic kisses to Howard's trembling lips while trying to extract promises of phone calls, and a definite return. The announcer gave him his last warning to board and they had stood at the open carriage doors, whispering desperate 'see you soon's. 

Vince had never let go of his hand. 

Howard rubbed his palm, and it felt empty. He hadn't wanted to face this alone, but he could never hurt Vince by asking him to support him in his grief. He just couldn't. 

Digging into his rucksack, he removed a glittery purple fashion scarf and threaded it through his fingers before fisting the excess. It was the only tangible piece of Vince he had with him, the only part he could have for too many days. 

"I love you, Vince Noir." He whispered in the empty compartment. 

He winced at the lance of pain that caused, but forced his mind onto other subjects. None any easier to swallow, but he couldn't wallow on Vince. Vince was what he was returning to. He promised himself that it would happen, and opened his eyes to stare at the rain-splatters on the other side of the window through the scratches. 

He had a funeral to attend. 

... 

Vince'd had to have Kattrin come get him. He was a mess, chasing after the train in his fifty-pound boots like it was a tragic romance movie. He'd wanted to go with Howard. The man needed support, damnit, and he'd wanted to be there for him! But Howard had never asked, and he could hardly invite himself to a family affair like that. 

He'd crawled into bed with the guitar case and refused to come out of his room. Kattrin had called Tracey and baked cookies. She'd dragged the TV and PlayStation into his room. Vince watched Kattrin play Crash Bandicoot, eating cookies and drinking hot chocolate, wishing he could laugh at her purposeful antics. When dinner rolled around, Kattrin phoned in a pizza and ended up eating the majority of it herself. 

She'd turned the game off at two am and, understanding, she'd slipped into bed beside him and held him as he sobbed into her shoulder. She listened, muttering soothing words, as he let the whole thing tumble from his trembling lips. 

"He-he told me he lo-loved me." He sobbed, burying his face in her soft woollen jumper. "And I didn't even say it back!" 

"Shh, Vince." She whispered calmly. "I'm sure he knows, sweetie." She assured him, "And if you can tell him when he phones tomorrow. It's not the end of the world." 

"But Howard's gone!" Vince cried, tears leaking from his eyes. 

"Not for good. At _least_ , he'll come back for his guitar." She told him calmly. 

He sat up and pulled the hard plastic case up from the foot of the bed. He unlatched it slowly and looked at the well-worn acoustic on purple-red velvet. "It's just a guitar." He pointed out, desperate for reassurance. 

Kattrin shook her head. "No, sweetie, it's not _just_ a guitar." She corrected firmly. "The first time I brought Howard home, he near had a panic attack when he couldn't find it." She explained, "It means a lot to him. Before he moved in here, did you ever see him without it?" 

The sentiment hit Vince in the chest like a cold fist. He hadn't. Howard trusted him so much...enough to keep his prized possession while he went away. He traced the roughly carved 'H' in 'Harold' with a fingertip. "I miss him." He admitted at a whisper. 

"He'll be home soon." She reassured him. "Now, we have to put Howard's guitar away so we can get some sleep so we can be awake when he calls tomorrow, okay?" Vince nodded helplessly and let her deal with it as he rolled over and buried his face in Howard's pillow. 

He knew the only reason he got any sleep that night was the musky scent of Howard, and Kattrin's warmth he pretended was Howard's. He stumbled out of the room at dawn and poured himself a coffee. 

Kattrin pulled the TV and console back out into the living room, and he watched her play Spyro as he hugged Howard's pillow and shot constant glances at the phone. 

Lunchtime was cut short by the shrill ringing and Vince diving for the phone, smacking his shins on the hall table and ending up sprawled ungainly on the carpet as he clutched the receiver to his ear and begged: "Howard?" 

"It's me, little man." The older man's deeper voice came through the phone. 

Vince sobbed in relief. The next hour and a half was filled with stilted conversation, and desperate, needy chatter on Vince's end. Howard seemed better just from hearing his voice, and before they reluctantly hung up, he cried out before it was too late: "I love you!" 

There was a quiet chuckle. "I know." Howard answered calmly. "I love you too, Vince." 

Another few minutes of chatter and they finally hung up. Kattrin was there to catch him as he crumbled, taking him back to bed and letting him sob into a mug of hot chocolate. When he calmed enough for words, Kattrin stroked his hair in her lap as he spoke. 

"I need him here, Kattrin. I need him." He sobbed, clutching Howard's pillow tighter. An odd feeling irritated the back of his mind, but he ignored it. 

"I know, sweetie, I know." She agreed, smoothing out a lock of hair. 

"I love him." He pointed out desperately. "He completes me. This place isn't home without him and..." The irritation became an insistent throb. "I need him here and I need him to be happy." 

"I understand, Vince." Kattrin agreed calmly. "But he _is_ coming back. He just needs to do this other thing first, and then he'll come home." She consoled him. She sat him up and looked him squarely in the eye. "This isn't about you and what you need. This is about Howard doing what he needs to do so he can be happy." She told him firmly. 

The throbbing in the back of his mind became a silent screaming and he whimpered, as much in sadness as the ache in his head. He realised with a start what it must mean: Other!Vince was coming to his epiphany! 

"I need Howard?" he tried, wondering if that was it. The screaming didn't ease – not that then. 

"I know, Vince." Kattrin said, an edge of irritation in her voice. "You need him. You've said it enough. But, yes, if it's any consolation, I think Howard needs you too." 

The screaming intensified. "Why?" he croaked out at his room-mate. 

Kattrin tsk'ed slightly. "Vince...whatever happens to you, you always make the best out of your life..." the throbbing eased off, just a fraction, as Kattrin paused "...and because of that, it's...it's kind of like your duty to make people's lives better." The pain sparked then, hurtling at top-speed towards a crescendo. "That's what you did for me, and it's what you have to do for Howard, as well." 

Vince let out a scream of pain as something in the back of his consciousness shattered. 

* * *

**Chapter 21: Epilogue: One Final Time**

* * *

Epilogue: Just One Final Time...

Feeling a dull ache of déjà vu, Vince watched Howard on the platform bench at the train station. This was, after all, the last place he'd seen the alternate Vince's Howard as well. His Howard was fresher-faced, less world-weary – somewhere during the many intimate times of the alternate Vince and Howard, he'd decided _his_ Howard was more attractive. 

Which, you know, had brought up a whole lot of other thoughts. Maybe, reluctantly, in his own way, less naive and needy, he loved his Howard. Long before the kiss on the roof he'd been so firmly repressing for a year. 

Vince had been upset, but in no way surprised when Howard had told him he was leaving. He understood, upon much reflection, how much he'd spurned his best-friend-come-who-knew-what with his cold-hearted but then truthful wish. He had truly wished with all his vengeance that he had never met Howard, believing that his life would be much better off without Small-Eyes as a dead-weight. 

As it had been proven, his life was pretty much equal on an enjoyment level. His other self had been as happy there without Howard as he had been here with Howard. _Whatever happens to you,_ Kattrin had told him, _you always make the best of your life_. He smiled wryly at the truth in that and finally swallowed his pride. 

"Hey, Howard, haven't left yet?" he asked, slipping into the seat beside him. 

There was a long pause. "The train's running late." Howard offered warily. 

"Maybe there was sale on at a wayward TopShop and the driver stopped the train so he could get that new pair of drainpipes he's been saving for." Vince suggested with an easy grin. 

Howard rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Not everyone's lives revolve around sales at TopShop, Vince." He pointed out, bitterly. 

Vince repressed the stab of hurt that caused. With all his actions over the past year or so, he deserved that. He didn't deny it, not even to himself. He reached into his coat pocket resigned, and handed Howard the little wrapped package he brought along with him. "Here." 

"What's this?" Howard asked suspiciously. 

"Well, since you're bound to be gone for Christmas, I got you something now. Didn't buy it, mind you, but..." he trailed off. "Just open it, already." He pleaded. 

Howard pulled off the wrapping paper and slid the object out. "Your old mobile." He dead-panned. 

Vince winced. Refusing to feel selfish, he explained: "I bought a new sim-card for it. All the numbers I could think of are on there: the shop, Naboo, Bollo, Horrace from the Jazz Club, Jazzercize Emergency Hotline." He sighed. "You can add more as you travel." 

"Which one of yours is on there?" Howard sneered, "Your fan-line or your friend-line?" he mocked. 

Vince sighed and turned away slightly. "None." He admitted, that one syllable and the reason behind it feeling like a stab in the gut. "I knew you'd delete me anyway, so I thought I'd save you the ten seconds of your life you shouldn't have to waste on me anyway." 

Howard's voice was taught with some unidentifiable emotion – other than the obvious bitterness – as he whispered: "I think that's the most considerate thing you've done for me in two years, Vince." 

He smiled grimly. "I think the awful part is that you're right." He turned to look at the most familiar face he knew. "I've been a prick for too long, Howard. I would've liked you to stay so I could make it up to you, but..." he sighed and glared at an empty crisp packet blow past. "I understand you have to leave." 

"I wasn't going to stay!" Howard shouted furiously, "Not after—" 

"Not after everything I said." Vince agreed wearily, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "I understand." He admitted. "It didn't take a trip to an alternate dimension to know that I was a cruel," he swallowed the lump forming in his throat, "but it did show much how much better I should have been to you over the past few years." 

When he glanced at Howard, the other man was watching him with a guarded expression. "You came back different than I expected." He admitted grudgingly. "Older. More grown up." He clarified. 

Vince shook his head and smiled sadly at his hands. "Maybe I did grow up. Just a little bit." 

Howard went to say something, but the sound of the train coming into the station cut him off and they stood awkwardly. "Well, um...thanks for the phone." he remarked awkwardly. 

"No worries." Vince answered with a grin. It fell slightly and he sighed. "Look, Howard, if you can ever forgive me, I'd like to hear from you sometime. Naboo can text you my number if you want it...just don't..." he sighed. "Never mind. You have every right to hate me forever." 

"I don't...I don't _hate_ you, Vince." Howard admitted quietly. "But I can't forgive you yet." He added sternly. 

"I know." Vince conceded. The doors hissed open and Howard gathered up his bags. Vince picked up a couple and handed them to the older man once he stepped inside. "Well...goodbye, I guess." He said, hating the tears that welled up. 

_This could be the last time I see him in forever_ , Vince thought panicked. 

"Howard!" he called. 

The older man turned back, surprised. "Yeah?" 

_Just one final time..._ Vince's thoughts echoed. He pulled his oldest friend's head quickly towards him and pressed a hurried kiss to his lips before stepping back onto the platform and smiling bravely. "Get out of here, you bumberclot." He called warmly. 

The train door closed on Howard's surprised face. 

**THE END**

* * *


End file.
